


When Worlds Collide - SuperWhoLock

by OMG_Mangos



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Multi, Superwholock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:19:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OMG_Mangos/pseuds/OMG_Mangos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One would think Dean Winchester has seen it all - with a brother that used to be addicted to demon blood, an angel as a close (maybe even closer?) friend and a king of hell that sold his soul for a longer penis, there can't possibly be anything that still surprises him.</p>
<p>Or can there?</p>
<p>When he and his brother work a case in London to help Castiel, who has been falling sick with a strange disease, they suddenly run into an extraordinary blue box with an even more extraordinary man in it.</p>
<p>As the genius Sherlock Holmes and his partner John Watson join in in their little adventure as well and complete their unusual team, it's suddenly not only Castiel they have to save - it's the whole universe. </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"This is the worst thing I've ever done," Dean Winchester growled. "And by worst thing I mean worst thing. Worse than worst. Hell was a cupcake party compared to this. I'd rather have another prom date with Michael and Lucifer than -" 

"Yes, alright, I get it," his brother, Sam, interrupted him. "As your tortured soul slowly fades away in the mist of an oncoming storm of disgrace for your whole family, aunts related by marriage excluded, you can feel the pain of a whole generation blah blah blah." 

Dean shot him a glance. "I don't sound like that." 

"Right, you sound worse, drama queen." 

The older Winchester threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "Sammy, do you realise in what ways cheating on Baby with this... _catastrophe_ breaks my..." 

"Dean, put your damn hands on the steering wheel or _I swear to God_...!" Sam hissed at him. His brother did as he was told, although he touched the wheel like others would touch a bag of excrements. It looked so ridiculous that Sam would have laughed out loud if his brother hadn't been on his nerves with this topics for quite a while now. For three hours, since they had left the airport near London, to be more specific. 

He sighed.  
"Look, I know you don't like flying and I know you don't like leaving your precious Impala -" 

"Baby." 

"... leaving Baby behind and I know you don't like left-hand traffic or anything else about the UK." 

"Populated by stupid tea-Tarzans."

"...right. I get it, okay? You don't like it. But Bobby said he tracked Crowley down in the UK, near London. The last signal he got was two days ago, so he could still be here. This is the best hint we've had for a while now, Dean. And we need to find Crowley to help Cas, so for the love of God's sake, pull yourself together!" 

At the mentioning of their friend's name, Dean's face grew a little softer. He cleared his throat and asked: "By the way, any word from him?" 

Sam shook his head and Dean stared on the road in silence for a moment. His brother almost thought he'd won this one, but then Dean glared at him from the side and started all over again. 

"Sammy, this thing that one may mistakenly describe as a car is a fucking VW Beetle and it's pink. Moreover, we're not even in London yet but in the middle of friggin' nowhere, so literally no one would see or care if I drove on the right side of this damn road and -" 

"Dean, LOOK OUT!" the younger Winchester shouted in this particular moment. His brother's green eyes fixed on the road again and grew wide in shock. Suddenly and out of nowhere, there was a blue box standing in the middle of the road as if it had been standing there since the beginning of times. Which it had decidedly not, Dean thought as he hit the brakes. 

Thrown forward by centrifugal force and only held back from flying through the windshield by the seat belt, which cut painfully into Dean's chest, he could see that they got to a halt only inches away from that stupid blue box of terror. He let out the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and glanced over at Sam, who didn't look any better than he was feeling.  
The majestic moose mane was all out of place and in Sam's face and his eyes were opened up wide. 

"What on earth was that?" Dean asked, but before he could get an answer, the door of the blue box opened as far as the space between it and the car would allow, and a head with confused but friendly blinking brown eyes and hair that sticked out in every possible and impossible direction appeared. 

"Oi!" the man exclaimed, "What've we got here?" 

For a moment, the Winchester brothers could do nothing but stare. Then, Dean slowly, very slowly, went into reverse and drove backwards until there were good three meters between the car and the box. 

The man stepped out of his box and stretched himself as if he'd slept for a long time. He was about as tall as Dean and wore a suit and a long brown trench coat. "Beautiful day, innet?" he said and smiled broadly. 

The Winchesters looked at him, at each other, then at him again and as if on command opened the car doors and got out of the VW Beetle. 

"What the fuck, man?" Dean made a few steps towards him and shook his fist in anger. 

"Oh! I'm in America, then?" the man asked. 

"Are you stoned?" Sam asked in disbelieve. "You're a few miles away from London." 

"Right." The man nodded as if he'd figured that from the beginning. 

"And you and your stupid ass box are standing the middle of the road and almost caused our car to crash!" Dean added furiously. 

The man took a look at this surroundings and seemed to be genuinely surprised, if not confused. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, scratching the back of his head. "Nice car, by the way."  
Dean looked like he wanted to strangle him. 

"Look," Sam said as calmly as possible, "if you could just move your box out of the way, we'll hit the road again and not cause you any trouble, alright?" Dean made a sound of disapproval but luckily didn't say anything. 

The man blinked a few times at Sam as if he hadn't understood, but then nodded eagerly. "Yes! Yes, of course, I'll be right on my way! Allons-Y!" He opened the door of the box again and stepped inside, mumbling something along the lines of "I really don't know what's wrong with you recently. This is not where we should have been going, and we as good as crashed. You almost caused a car accident and I don't even really know what year it is... Are you alright?" to himself. Then he closed the door again. 

Dean glared at Sam. "What, is he going to remove that thing from the inside? Because I'm _not_ doing it for him, and he better -"  
He didn't get any further, because in that moment, a lamp on top of the box started blinking and a sound that resembled nothing Dean had ever heard in his life resonated over the lonely B-road. Then, the blue box vanished into thin air. 

Sam gasped. "W-what? Dean, what did just happen?" 

But Dean didn't have an explanation, either. 

After they had made sure that the box wasn't hidden between the trees nearby or still standing there, just invisible, they decided that even though here was definitely something supernatural going on, they already had a case and couldn't do much about this weird man with his vanishing box. At least not yet. And so they got back in the car and were on their way again. 

In the meantime, there was a black haired man standing in front of the fireplace at 221B Bakerstreet, watching as the flames ate away at a log of wood. 

"Explain it to me again, please," John Watson, who was sitting in an armchair and examining him suspiciously, said. 

The man turned around and nipped at his glass of scotch. 

"It's a deal. You get whatever it is you desire and get to keep it for a very long time. Well, a long time in human measurements of time, but you can believe me that it will be more than enough. Especially for a man of your age, no offence." 

John shook his head. "None taken. But there's always two sides of a deal. What do you get in exchange?" 

"Oh, just a diminutiveness." The man traced the rim of his glass with his finger. "Nothing you'd really need." 

Before John could respond, there were steps to be heard in the staircase, announcing Sherlock's return from a crime scene. 

The man smiled. "Think about it, John Watson. I can give you everything you want. Anything." And within the blink of an eyelid, Crowley disappeared.


	2. Welcome to 221B Bakerstreet

"I can't say I'm overly thrilled at the state of our current situation," Dean said, rubbing his temples.   
After they had gotten a call from Bobby who told them he'd been able to locate Crowley again, this time in the very centre of London, they had promptly changed their plan of staying in a cheap motel outside of the city to search for demonic activity from there, and come straight into town. 

However, they hadn't been able to find just one not booked out hotel, motel or other accommodation. The traffic was a nightmare, it was raining and it was cold, and the car, which didn't have a heating, sank even in Sam's opinion from "not great, but useful" to "absolute fucking trash". 

"Maybe we haven't checked everywhere. Let's just asked somebody local, they might have an idea; something like a secret shelter that's not so much for tourist," Sam suggested tiredly. 

"Alright, Mister Secret Shelter, do you see any person on these streets that wasn't smart enough to stay inside? Because I don't, and as long as you don't plan on talking to a lamppost, there's no one we could ask. I don't even know where we are." 

Sam pointed at a road sign. "Bakerstreet," he said. "We could just knock on somebody's door and ask. It's not like we haven't knocked on doors and asked awkward questions before." 

Dean couldn't argue on that and so he pulled over ("To the left, Dean, TO THE LEFT!") and the brothers got out of the pink Beetle. Within seconds, they were completely soaked from the rain. "Great idea, just great!" Dean muttered and headed for the next door, a dark green one with the house number 221B. 

An elderly woman answered their knocking. "Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "Look at you! All dripping wet. What can I do for you?" 

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, which was, thanks to the rain, glued to his skull. He did not like that. Not at all.   
"We where just wondering if you happened to know any accommodation nearby that isn't booked out yet, ma'am," he said politely. 

She examined the brothers all over, then smiled and opened the door a little further. "Sadly, I don't know any. But fortunately, there's still an empty room right under the rooftop. You can stay there until you find another residence," she suggested sweetly. 

Sam and Dean exchanged a surprised look. 

"That would be great, thank you very much, ma'am." 

"I'm Mrs. Hudson, my dear, and now come in before you catch a cold!" 

Gratefully, the brothers stepped into the hallway and hurried to close the door behind them. 

"We're Sam and Dean Winchester," Sam introduced them and extended a hand. 

"Married, isn't that adorable!" she exclaimed rapturously while shaking it. 

"Wh- No, we're not... we're just brothers!" Dean hurried to clarify as he shook her hand as well.   
"Oh! Well, I'm sorry," she said, sounding not sorry at all. "And now come on, come on, let's get you to your room." 

They followed her up the narrow staircase, passing a door from another flat. Suddenly, a shot echoed from the walls and everybody gave a jerk. "What was that?" Sam asked, sounding alarmed. He and Dean got in defensive position and felt for their own guns under their jackets. But Mrs. Hudson just shook her head. 

"That was Sherlock Holmes, one of my subtenants. He occasionally shoots the wall when he's bored, even though I've tried plenty of times to knock that nonsense out of him," she said deploringly, like a mother censuring her child, and continued making her way up. 

The brothers exchanged a look of disapproval. _What the hell is going on?_ Sam mouthed. Dean only shrugged. _Brits_ , he mouthed back. 

The room was more than the Winchesters could've asked for. Not especially big, but clean and comfortable, with two beds and a separate bathroom. All in all, it was rather comfortable. 

"Do you want to eat something?" Mrs. Hudson asked after she'd helped the boys making their beds.   
Sam wanted to politely decline, but Dean couldn't stop himself. 

"Would you happen to have some pie?" he asked. 

Sam pushed his elbow into Dean's side, but Mrs. Hudson's smile didn't falter for one second. 

"No, but I could bake one, dear. Just this once; I'm the landlady, not the housekeeper!" 

"Ma'am," Sam said and glared angrily at Dean, "We really don't want to cause any trouble. You have to excuse my brother." 

"Just this once!" she repeated and was out of the room in the next second, quick as a flash. 

Sam glared at Dean, but his brother only shrugged. "What? She asked."   
The younger Winchester rolled his eyes and went to get the luggage out of the car while Dean tried to phone Bobby to inform him where they were and to ask if he'd found anything else. 

But Bobby didn't pick up the phone, and just as Dean hung up, he heard the flutter of wings. He turned around to see Castiel stumble a few steps and then steady himself on the wall. He hadn't seen Cas since the last time he had popped up in a motel room in South Carolina, explaining to Sam and Dean that there was something wrong with him. Not with his vessel, but his true form. Something was destroying him from the inside, some sort of angel disease. 

Castiel had never asked the Winchesters for help before, at least not this desperately, so the brothers dropped everything and went to find Crowley, the only person they could think of that might know something about it. Cas hadn't looked like the embodiment of health back then, but now he looked awful. 

"Dean," Cas said in his low voice. 

"Cas," Dean said. 

The angel made a few steps towards him before stumbling again. With two big steps, Dean was at his side, steadying him. "Whoa, man, take it easy. You alright?" 

"I... don't know," the angel answered truthfully. That scared Dean a little. Usually, Cas would play everything down, enduring every injury without one single complaint. He had to feel seriously miserable. 

Dean led him to one of the beds. Cas say down and rubbed at his temples as if his head was causing him a great deal of pain. Before he could stop himself, Dean gently placed his hand on Cas' forehead.   
The angel, unfamiliar to the touch, flinched away at first, but then leaned into it as if desperately craving some affection. Or maybe it was just the coolness of Dean's hand that brought him to that action. 

"Dude, you're running one hell of a fever there!" Dean exclaimed as he removed his hand. 

"Then it's affecting my vessel as well," Castiel said and closed his eyes in exhaustion. Dean wanted to place a hand on his friend's shoulder, but then hesitated. 

"Any news about this?" he finally asked. 

Cas shook his head. "No angel in heaven has ever heard of or seen such a thing." 

"Is it affecting your angel mojo?" 

Castiel thought about this for a moment. "No," he said after a moment. "I mean, yes. I'm stronger than I have ever been before. It is like I contain too much power for my form to handle." 

"So you're basically drowning in holy juice?" 

"If that's how you want to put it, yes." 

"Like when you played God?" Dean asked hesitantly. He didn't like thinking about that event and how his best friend had betrayed him. Apparently, neither did Cas. The angel flinched a little, but then answered: "Yes, a little... but at the same time, it's completely different." 

The green-eyed hunter sighed. "Great. How did you find us, anyway? Did Sammy pray to you? Because I didn't." 

"I heard your longing for me," Cas said matter-of-factly. 

For a moment, Dean forgot his concern about his best friend. "Dude, I wasn't _longing_ for you!" he snapped. 

Before Cas could respond, Sam stepped into the room, carrying two bags. "Dean, it certainly wouldn't hurt if you helped me with this - Cas!" He dropped the bags and hurried over. "How are you, man?" 

"He's a complete wreck," Dean answered for him as Cas didn't seem like he had even heard the question. 

"You could stay here until we find Crowley. Nobody would expect you here and you could rest a little," Sam suggested. 

But Cas shook his head. "I don't think that will be possible. I have duties in heaven and moreover I'm still searching for someone who has experience with this sort of thing. In case you don't find Crowley in time." There was the tiniest hint of despair in his otherwise emotionless voice, a short falter in his expressionless mask. 

The dark haired man got up and swayed a little before recovering himself again. 

"Hey, Cas," Dean said. The angel lifted his head, blue eyes meeting green ones. "Take care." 

The corners of Cas' mouth curled up into the suggestions of a smile. "I will, Dean." And with a flutter of his wings, Castiel was gone. 

Dean scratched the back of his head. "Y'know, Sammy," he said, "sometimes I wonder if all the bad luck in our life results from all the mirrors we broke when we were hunting that Bloody Mary bitch."


	3. Deductions

Dean flopped onto his bed and let his feet dangle over the edge. He was almost too tall for this bed and started to wonder how his giraffe of a brother would manage to sleep here. Named was looking at him with his eyebrows raised. 

"What? 'S there something wrong about gettin' comfortable?" 

"It's not even four pm yet, Dean. You could make yourself useful for once and do some research on -" 

"On how to size up British chicks," Dean finished, seeming overly satisfied with himself and how things had eventually turned out for good. Sam made a bitchface at him, but before there could be any more conversation of similar intelligence held, there was a knock on the door. Dean, much to the opposite of his statement of how oh-so comfortable he had gotten, was on his legs in less than a second to open, expecting Mrs. Hudson with the pie he had asked for. 

All the more surprising it was to see two man standing in the hallway instead. Both were smaller than the Winchesters (which wasn't that much of a surprise as this state of facts applied to about 90% of all people) but still had a great height difference between each other. 

The taller one had a great deal of wild, dark curls adorning his head, pale skin, pale eyes and sharp cheekbones. The other man was rather tiny compared, Dean thought, couldn't be taller than 5'6''. He was blonde and had a simultaneously strict and soft face. 

Before Dean could think of a way to react to those unexpected figures standing in front of their door, the dark haired man had pushed him aside a little and stepped into the room. The small one, that Dean upon his height and face decided to call "hobbit", followed suit. 

He finally found his voice again. "I can't remember inviting you in," he snarled. 

"And I can't remember asking," cheekbones responded while his eyes darted across the room. 

Sam got up from behind his laptop.  
"Is there a problem?" he asked politely but cold. 

"You're brothers," cheekbones said matter-of-factly, ignoring Sam's question. 

"Yes, thanks, we noticed," Dean snapped and rounded the two unbidden guests.

"And to answer your question: you two seem to bring trouble wherever you go, so yes, there definitely is a problem with you staying in this house." 

The brothers exchanged a look, but cheekbones just continued talking. 

"Always on the road, almost as if on the run... no, more like something's running from you. You are chasing someone. You've been prepared for that your whole life, an almost military drill. No home, is there? How could there be... it burned down, didn't it? Together with mommy and daddy. No, only the mother died in the fire. Tell me," he spoke now directly to Dean, "how did your father die? How did he save you?" 

As he spoke, both of the Winchesters' eyes got narrow. Dean felt for the flask of holy water in his pocket while Sam pulled out a silver knife. The years of hunting together made it easy for the two of them to interact without words; a short glance at each other, and Dean splashed holy water at both of the men with a single move of his wrist. In the meantime, Sam grabbed their arms and made a small cut into each of them to see if it was bleeding, quick as a flash. 

For the first time, the hobbit spoke up, rubbing his wet face with his sleeve. "What the bloody hell was that?!" 

Dean pulled his gun out of his belt and pointed it at the strangers. "Who are you?" he barked, "And don't you dare tell me fucking lies; I've had a really long drive in a real shit car after a really long flight in a real shit plane, so don't. Test. Me." 

"Dean," Sam tried to calm him, "They're clean. They're just people." 

"Then how does Lord Dracula know so much about us?" Dean growled and pointed at the paler of the two. 

"I am Sherlock Holmes," the man said, his voice thick with boredom, "and this is my partner, Doctor John Watson." 

"Would somebody please have the kindness to tell me what's going on? What do you mean by _clean_? We're not bloody crack addicts, if you were thinking that," the man who apparently was Watson, asked. 

"I'm the one with the gun, I make the rules," Dean made clear. "For starters you could tell me why you come bustin' in here like hunting hounds during deer season." To make his point, he fidgeted with his gun a little. 

"As I already said," Holmes said slowly as if talking to a small child, seeming not in the least impressed by Dean or the gun in his hand, "You two are troublesome and dangerous. You can't stay here and put everyone in danger, especially not Mrs. Hudson. She usually asks me to give my agreement before she lets this room. And you definitely do not have my agreement." 

"Says the man who shoots his wall when he's bored," Sam said disapprovingly. 

"At least I know how to protect the people around me. Can you say the same about you?" Holmes shot back sharply. 

Both of the Winchesters flinched a little at that, remembering all the people they hadn't been able to save. 

A triumphant smile appeared on cheekbones' face. "Thought so." 

Watson nudged his partner into his side. "Sherlock, that's enough," he mumbled. 

"Who. Are. You," Dean asked through clenched teeth, "And how do you know all these things about us? Do you work for Crowley?" 

Had the brothers been less focused on the dark haired man, who seemed to be more of a threat than his partner at the time, maybe they'd have noticed that John Watson went pale at the mentioning of this name. 

Sherlock Holmes sighed. He was tired of explaining himself. He was tired of people not understanding. What was so hard about understanding things? 

"I still am Sherlock Holmes, that hasn't changed since I told you exactly that a few minutes ago." He rolled his eyes. 

"And I didn't know these things, I observed them. I can read you like an open book. It's is so obvious." 

"Is that so?" Dean asked sarcastically, still not believing him. 

"Take for example," Sherlock continued, "that flask and its content you for some idiotic reason considered necessary to wet us with. A man of your age would hardly carry such a flask around with him, especially when it's filled with nothing more than water, if it wasn't for the sentimental value more than for the tangible value.  
So it obviously belonged to a person older but close to you, most likely not a female. Could be your grandfather or an uncle, but people with a big family usually don't travel around with their brothers. And that you two have been traveling and living together for a very long time is evident."  
He cleared his throat before he continued.  
"So the only consequential conclusion is that it belonged to your father. A very down-to-earth man, apparently, maybe served in the military. The flask is robust and practical, not of cheap material but without unnecessary folderol such as decorations or engravings. Still, it's as good as falling apart; the sides are worn and the lid won't fit perfectly anymore.  
If your father was still alive he would have bought a new one. He thought practical, not stingily.  
But now you have lost plenty of family members, I see it in the way you fold your shirts. And yet you don't carry around a token of them. Why not? What's different about your father's death?  
He did something for you. Something big. Something you can never forgive him, but because you can't blame a dead man, especially not your father, you blame yourself instead. Something like dying to save your life.  
And so you kept his old flask to remind yourself that it was your fault, in a way of psychosomatic assignment of guilt," Sherlock Holmes finished his explanations. 

For a moment, it was dead silent in the room except for the pattering of the rain outside. 

"That was impressive," Sam then said honestly and promptly earned an angry glare from Dean. 

"He calls it deductions," John Watson said proudly. 

"Yeah? Well, let me make a deduction as well," the older Winchester snapped, "You're a grade-A douchebag." 

Before anyone could respond, there was a high-pitched scream to be heard outside.  
The four men looked at each other for a split second, then, as if on command, grabbed their heels and ran out of the room.


	4. Of Dead Women and Blue Space Ships

Finding the source of the screaming was easier than the four men would have expected. Actually, they as good as stumbled over it. In every sense of the word. 

As Sherlock teared the door open, he almost tripped over the dead body of a young woman. Her eyes were missing, her limbs were twisted in unnatural angles, and her mouth was opened in a now silent scream, her face a single expression of terror. 

John sucked in air through his clenched teeth, Dean whistled quietly and on Sherlock's face appeared a smile that suggested happiness as well as slight madness. 

Without having been told to, the Winchester brothers rounded the body and planted themselves on the other side of it, blocking it off from the terrified yet curious looks coming from behind windows and door viewers.   
"What do you think?" Sam asked quietly so only Dean could hear.   
His brother shrugged. "Angels? Demons? Maybe some sort of gourmet ghoul that only eats the eyes?"   
"Dean, that's not funny!"

Sherlock shot them a glance. 

"This is not the first corpse you've set eye on, is it," Sherlock stated more than he asked. "Who are you?" 

Dean, who was indignant to answer this man that seemed to know everything about them, anyway, just one more question, crossed his arms.   
"And you're smirking down on a dead woman with her peepers missing like you got the hottest chick for prom night. So the question is: who are _you?_ " 

"I," Sherlock said, kneeling down next to the woman and examining her from every possible angle, "am a consulting detective." 

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, but he just shrugged. "You might say we're working in the same branch," the younger Winchester said. Dean almost snorted. 

The dark haired man interrupted his sniffling on the dead woman's hand and looked up to them. "So what do you think, then?" he asked disdainfully. 

"Well, I'd say she's fucking dead," Dean snarled impatiently. Sam shot him an angry glare and added to his brother's helpful comment: "And I would say she hasn't been dead for a long time. The blood hasn't even dried yet. We can't say for sure that it was her scream we heard, but it seems very likely to me." 

Sherlock sighed, got up and brushed the dirt off his trousers.   
" _Of course_ it was her scream, Samuel. She obviously was on her way home from a tea party with the family of her fiancé and made a bit of a detour to come by the wedding grown boutique and look through the shop windows. She didn't take a cab out of her irrational paranoia the driver might find out about her little affair and tell her to-be husband. However, she was going to end said affair today but never got to their meeting point because, as you so brilliantly witty pointed out, Mister Winchester, she died. I would go as far to say she was brutally murdered," he finished smugly. 

Dean shook his head. "You're just making this up." 

"I don't need to," Sherlock said nonchalantly, "John, what's your medical statement?" 

John kneeled down as well, sniffed at her respiratory organs, felt for her main artery and examined her empty orbits. He then scratched the back of his head and got up. 

"Well, I can't say anything for sure, but it almost looks like her heart just stopped beating, from one second to the other. No physical trauma, no injuries, no poison or alcohol. She literally died of fear."

There was a moment of thoughtful silence, then Sherlock asked: "What about the eyes?" 

John pinched the tip of his nose. "Well, if it wasn't impossible, I'd say her eyes were pushed out from inside her skull and-" 

"Found 'em," Dean interrupted him and stared at a spot on the exterior wall. Sherlock peeked around the house entrance to see what Dean was looking at, and there they were: like bursted uncooked eggs sticking to the white plastering of the wall. 

"Somebody will have to clean that up," Sherlock said simply before disappearing into the hallway again.  
"Call the police," he ordered from inside and then, without warning, started shouting: "Mrs. Hudson, the Winchesters are staying!" 

John hurried to follow him while he took out his mobile phone.   
"But you said they were dangerous!" 

Sherlock turned around on the landing.   
"Oh, they are. They carry a gun in their belts like it is an umbrella and have just seen a dead body with missing eyes but are still capable of making bad jokes, what can you deduct from that?" 

"Then why-" 

"Because, Doctor Watson," Sherlock said and grinned with too many teeth, his eyes sparkling with the same hint of madness, "the game is on." 

*** 

Fifteen minutes later, the Winchesters found themselves sitting in the living room of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. 

"Is... is that a skull?" Dean asked and pointed at a place above the fireplace. 

"No, it's a guinea pig," Sherlock answered sarcastically and rolled his eyes. " _Of course_ it's a skull." 

"He calls it Billy and he talks to it when I'm not here to listen," John sighed. 

"Seriously?" Sam chuckled. 

"Oh, yes," John grinned. "The greatest compliment I've ever gotten from him is that I'm good at replacing Billy. I'm John, by the way." 

The brothers shook his extended hand. 

"Sam." 

"Dean." 

Sherlock groaned dramatically. "Now that we're all friends, could we please get to business?" 

"For starters you could tell me what on earth made Your Grace, the mighty detective, change his mind about us staying here?" Dean furrowed his brows. 

Sherlock sat down, or more sprawled himself out, on his armchair.   
"It's simple," he said. "You obviously have seen murders of such kind before and you have a theory about it. That might come in handy when solving the case. And it's _Consulting_ Detective." 

"He means he would appreciate your help and knowledge and teamwork on this case," John translated helpfully. 

Sherlock made a face. "I don't do _teamwork_ ," he snapped in disgust. 

The Winchesters exchanged a look. 

"Uhm, actually, we do have a theory," Sam started carefully, "But I don't think that -" 

A loud noise, some sort of rattling and shattering, interrupted him. 

"That came from the roof," Dean realised and the four men sprang to their feet, heading for the staircase. 

Dean was the first to reach the flat roof. He stopped dead in his tracks and just stared. Sam ran into him at full speed. 

"Dean, what the hell?!" 

"Dude. _Dude_." 

Now Sam saw it, too. In the middle of the roof, there was a blue box. And out of the blue box came a man in a long brown coat. 

Sherlock and John stepped out of the door behind them onto the roof as well. John groaned softly. 

"Oh, no." 

"So you've met him before, too?" Sam asked. 

John nodded. "Completely insane, that man. I'm just wondering how he got up here, especially with that bloody box of his." 

The man had noticed their presence as well by now and came over, beaming with joy.   
"Hello again, mates!" 

"Doctor. Always a pleasure," Sherlock said sarcastically. 

Dean nudged his brother into the side. "Dude, check it. Crazy Brit number three has a fancy blue glow stick." 

That was indeed true. The man was holding a metallic stick of the size of a pencil with a blue shining tip that made a somewhat buzzing sound. 

The man looked at it and beamed.   
"Sonic screwdriver. Really good at opening doors. Oi! Where are my manners? I'm the doctor." 

"Doctor who?" Dean asked skeptically. 

"Just the doctor." He extended a hand.   
Sam hesitated before shaking it. "Sam Winchester." As his brother refused to shake his hand, he added: "And this is my brother, Dean." 

The Doctor didn't seem to be taken aback by Dean's behaviour in the slightest and went on to greet Sherlock and John as well. 

"Nice to see you again!" 

"What the bloody hell are you doing on our rooftop?" John asked instead of a greeting. 

The Doctor scratched the back of his head. "Had some problems with the TARDIS. I actually wanted to pay Caesar another visit to see if he's still lactose intolerant, but she keeps throwing me back to this time and place. Like something's off with her..." He took a look over his shoulder at the blue box. 

"You had some problems with your what?" Sam's eyebrows almost disappeared under his hairline. 

"TARDIS. Stands for Time And Relative Dimension in Space," the Doctor explained proudly. 

John sighed. "That's what he calls his... time machine and space ship or whatever. He turned up at a crime seen a couple of days ago, saying he was a time and space traveler." He shared a significant glare with the Winchesters. 

"That's right." The Doctor beamed. "All the way through the history of the universe. You wouldn't believe the beautiful things I've seen-" 

"That's right, I don't friggin' believe you," Dean cut him off harshly. "But that wouldn't be so much of a problem if I hadn't seen your TADRIS-" 

"TARDIS." 

"If I hadn't seen that stupid oversized bubblegum packet of yours disappear in front of my own two eyes. Something's not kosher 'bout you, and me and my brother will find out what it is." 

He reached into his pocket and drew his gun again. For the first time since they'd met him, the Doctor's smile faded away. 

"Guns. You brought guns," he said, sounding almost disappointed. 

"Fuckin' straight, man. And we're not afraid to use them," Dean barked. 

"I really don't like guns!" the Doctor stated, looking like a kicked puppy. 

"And I really don't care," Dean snapped. "Sammy, test him." 

His brother hesitated. "Dean, don't you think this is a little overreacted? He hasn't done anything... bad, you know?" 

"I'm not risking anything. Not with Crowley on the run in this area. Now test him." Dean didn't lower his gun for one second. 

So his brother grabbed the strange man's wrist and made a small cut with his silver knife. 

"Oi! Ouch!" The Doctor exclaimed, more out of surprise than pain. "What are you doing that for?!" Instead of an answer he got a face full of holy water. 

"Sorry," Sam said, "Just standard testing." 

"Standard testing of what?" John stepped into the conversation again. "You've done the same to us. What for?" 

Before anyone could react, there was a strange noise coming from the blue box. 

"Oh no no no!" the Doctor exclaimed and took a sprint towards it, pulling out a key. 

"You're not going anywhere!" Dean took up the chase and Sam and even John and Sherlock followed suit. The Doctor disappeared in his box and Dean slowed down as he really didn't wish to share that space of maybe 1.5 square meter in the box with that weird glow stick man. 

"Gotcha," he said, slowly opening the door and looking inside. He froze, eyes opened up so wide he was afraid they might fall out of his skull. 

Slowly, he set one foot into the box, then the other, and looked around in the most bizarre room he had ever seen. 

First of all, it was much bigger than the 1.5 square meter he had expected. So very much. He couldn't even really make out how big. 

There was a rather complicated looking machine in the middle of said room. Actually, the whole inside of the box looked quite technical. 

"Son of a bitch," Dean mumbled. Behind him, Sam, John and Sherlock entered with more or less similar reactions. 

"I-it's bigger on the inside," John stuttered. 

"Ha! There it is!" The Doctor, who arose from behind the machine, exclaimed cheerfully. "People always say that." 

"But that's impossible!" Sherlock seemed to be pretty upset. 

"Nah, that's physics!" The Doctor smiled. 

Dean made two threatening steps toward him. "What the hell are you?" he demanded to know. 

Suddenly, the TARDIS door slammed shut and the whole thing gave a jerk, sending everybody ungently to the ground. 

"Oh no, you don't!" The Doctor started hectically fumbling around with two wires and his sonic screwdriver. But it was too late. 

"Everybody hold on tight! Allons-Y!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> I really hope at least some people enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. 
> 
> Maybe, if it tickles your fancy, you could leave me your opinion or criticism or your favourite oatmeal recipe. 
> 
> Would be great!


	5. Westminster Abbey

"Oh my god..." 

"Dean! You okay?" Sam asked over the noise and rattling of the TARDIS whilst holding tightly to a metal rod. 

His brother, who was hanging on some sort of table for dear life, looked ready to pass out.

"I think... I'm gonna be sick..."

"Nobody throws up in the TARDIS!" the Doctor exclaimed, his voice raising with the horror of it all. But it was too late. The sharp scent of Dean's already digested lunch filled the spaceship. 

"Oh, dear Lord!" John Watson pinched his nose shut and Sherlock added: "I didn't think our current situation could get any worse, but you actually managed. Congratulation, Mister Winchester." 

Before Dean could give a snappy answer or, more likely, throw up again, the TARDIS suddenly came to a halt. No shaking, no rattling, not even the quietest noise from one second to the other. 

The Doctor was the first to get to his feet. 

"That was slightly unpleasant," he said simply while straightening his tie. 

Dean slowly brought himself into an upright position and wiped over his mouth with his sleeve. 

"What the fuck did just happen?"

"We landed," the Doctor answered shortly, as cheerful as ever.   
"Could you clean that up, please?" he added. 

Dean, even though still a little greenish, snapped: "I ain't cleaning up nothing here. I didn't ask for a ride in this liquidizer, so deal with it." 

"We have landed where exactly?" John threw in. 

The Doctor carried out some sort of dance around the bluish shining machine and pressed all sorts of buttons and turned various levers. 

"As far as I can tell, we're in London, 1887 anno Domini. Great year, really. And I wasn't talking to you, Dean. I was talking to the TARDIS, of course." 

"You were talking to your... whatever this is?" Sam asked, eyebrows raising. 

"I don't care whom he was talking to," John snarled and stood up as well, "He just said it's the bloody year 1887 and we're in it!" 

Sherlock pulled himself up on a metal rod and walked towards the door. 

"Of course we're not, John, don't be ridiculous. That's completely..." 

He opened it and stopped dead in his tracks. 

"... impossible," he finished, his voice not more than a whisper. 

From his position, Sam could catch sight of horse-drawn carriages and funny dressed people passing by on the other side of the door. He jumped to his feet and positioned himself next to Sherlock, looking at London in the year 1887. 

"Close your mouth, Samuel," Sherlock commanded, "You look exceptionally stupid." 

But he couldn't hide that he was more than confused and maybe even a little scared, too. 

"What the bloody hell..." John had, unnoticed by both Sam and Sherlock, stepped up to them and was looking wide-eyed and tiptoeing past the two taller men. They both gave a jerk. 

Meanwhile, Dean was trying to get to his feet. But his knees felt like they were made out of jelly and the world was still turning a little too fast for his liking. He had thought that flying in a plane was the worst thing to ever happen to him, but this was... it was... he didn't even find a word to describe it. 

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm and gently pulled him up, steadying him as he swayed a little. 

He expected it to be Sam, but instead he looked into the kind, brown eyes of the Doctor. He pulled his arm away. 

"Are you okay?" the Doctor asked.

"Just peachy," Dean growled. 

The Doctor scratched his neck and looked apologetically at Dean. 

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to, you know, cause you trouble. I have absolutely no idea what was going on or what's wrong with the TARDIS – and that's a rare case." 

He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. 

"You sure you're going to be alright?" 

Dean blinked in confusion. He hadn't been especially nice to that Doctor (not that the crazy Brit would have deserved it, though) and moreover thrown up in that... spaceship or whatever of his. The TARDIS seemed to be something to him like baby was to Dean, so Dean would have expected him to be at least slightly pissed. 

But he wasn't. Quite to the opposite, he seemed to actually care about Dean and his wellbeing. And Dean had absolutely no idea how to handle that. 

"Uh, yes. I, uh, will be fine, really. T-thanks," he stammered out and kicked himself mentally into the guts. 

"Great." The Doctor smiled, gave Dean's shoulder one last clap, pulled out his glow stick and joined the others at the door. "Well then. Let's see what we've got here, shall we? Allons-Y!" 

And so the five of them stepped out into the world of London in the year 1887, with several degrees of astonishment on their faces. 

People were staring at them because of their clothes and John uncomfortably pulled at his collar. 

To distract himself, he started a conversation with the Doctor. 

"So... this is your life, then? Travelling time and space?" 

The Doctor beamed. "Oh, yes. It's absolutely fantastic, really. The whole universe and all time of the same." 

"Isn't that very lonely?" John asked, "Have you never had friends? A girlfriend maybe, or a boyfriend?" 

The Doctor flinched ever so slightly. 

"I..." He cleared his throat. "I used to have companions. Brilliant people, all of them..." 

"Where are they now?" 

An expression of sadness flashed over the Doctor's face; so sad that John immediately felt bad for having asked. 

But only moments later, the Doctor's smile was back. He pointed at a building in front of them. 

"Oi! Look at that!" They had somehow landed near Westminster Abbey and now the great church was majestically towering in front of them. 

"It's beautiful." Sam stood thunderstruck. 

"You mean you've never seen Westminster Abbey before?" John asked disapprovingly. 

"I've spent my whole life on the roads of the United States. This is my second time leaving them," Sam answered without turning his eyes off the church. 

Dean shot him an angry glare. He didn't like that Sam told those men about their lives, and he didn't like that Sam said they had spent their whole lives on the road. It was true, of course, but hearing it as Sam spoke it out loud made it somewhat realer for Dean. Sadder, somehow. Like he should've taken Sammy and run away with him a long time ago. 

The Doctor smirked at Sam. "You care for a look inside, mate?" 

Inside, the church was even more magnificent. Even Dean had to admit it was pretty impressive. 

"Westminster Abbey, formally titled the Collegiate Church of St Peter at Westminster, is a mainly Gothic abbey church and one of the most notable religious buildings in the United Kingdom. It has been the traditional place of coronation and burial site for English and, later, British monarchs. Between 1540 and 1556 the abbey had the status of a cathedral. Since 1560, however, the building is no longer an abbey nor a cathedral, having instead the status of a 'Royal Peculiar' – a church responsible directly to the Sovereign," Sherlock said casually and yet somewhat solemnly. 

"Dude." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Have you swallowed a lexicon? I thought Sammy was a smartass... but that was before I met you." 

John shook his head and smirked. "Don't get your hopes up too high, Sherlock just likes to boast. But then again he doesn't even know the earth goes 'round the sun." 

"Seriously?" 

"That is completely irrelevant! If the sun goes around the earth or dances a Waltz with it, it's not important. I only save important information," Sherlock interrupted their conversation. 

"Oh, and having the entire Wikipedia article of Westminster Abbey in your head, _that_ is important, yes?" Dean asked and chuckled. 

For a moment, it almost looked like Sherlock wanted to poke his tongue out at Dean, but then he just ignored him. 

Sam, however, caught up with Sherlock and asked him to tell more about the church. Sherlock immediately looked less offended and started quietly talking to Sam about everything there is to know about Westminster Abbey. Dean rolled his eyes. 

"You know, Dean," the Doctor suddenly said to him, "You and your brother are taking our little journey quite well so far. No panic attacks, no confused running-around-in-circles, no 'have I gone mad?'. I mean, Sherlock obviously is a little... erm, different from human standards, and John Watson is his friend, so he should be used to certain kinds of things. But what about you two? I mean, you don't travel into the year 1887 every day, aye?" 

"Yeah, well, sorry to break it to you, fella, but you're not the first to let us jump in time." Dean shrugged. 

All of a sudden, the Doctor, who was walking in front of Dean, stopped dead in his tracks. The green-eyed hunter had had his eyes fixed to the ground and ran into the other man. 

"Hey, watch it, Doc!" 

But instead of an answer, the Doctor grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him slightly. 

"What did you say? Dean, what did you just say?!" There was a tiny hint of hysteria in his voice. 

Dean raised his hands in an attempt to calm the Doctor.   
"Easy, tiger. You see, I've this friend and he took me time travelling or whatever you call this shit a few times, too." 

The Doctor had gone pale. He hesitated for a moment, then asked: "This... this friend of yours, is he... is he a Time Lord?" 

Dean frowned. "What on earth is a Time Lord? Nah, man, he's more of an... well, he definitely isn't a Time Lord, whatever that is." 

The Doctor let go of Dean's shoulders, looking both relieved and disappointed.   
"Then how can he travel in time?" he asked, more addressing himself than Dean. 

"Could I meet your friend one day?" he added, this time speaking to Dean again. 

For a moment, an expression of deep concern crossed the other man's face and the Doctor frowned. But then, Dean just shrugged. 

"Sure, I guess." 

The five men wandered through the gigantic building and finally, when they had seen everything, towards the west door. Sherlock, John and Sam were walking in the front, having an animated conversation, then Dean in the middle, and the Doctor was coming in last. 

But Dean suddenly realised that the Doctor wasn't behind him anymore. He turned around. 

"Doc? You coming?" 

But the Doctor wasn't coming. He hadn't even heard the question. 

He was staring at the opposite wall. 

The wall with exactly two words written on it in a colour that could only be described as blood red. 

Bad Wolf.


	6. Rose Tyler

Suddenly, a hand was placed on the Doctor's shoulder and he gave a little jerk. 

"Man, you alright?" Dean Winchester asked. The Doctor didn't give an answer as he himself didn't really know if he was alright or not, and Dean noticed the writing on the wall. He pointed at it. 

"What's that?" he asked quietly. 

The Doctor sighed.   
"I... I used to have this friend once. She travelled with me and had the tendency to write 'Bad Wolf' when she wanted me to realise she was, you know... there. It’s rather complicated." 

He laughed a joyless laughter. 

"Isn't that good, then? Maybe she's here right now," Dean suggested confusedly. 

The other man bleakly shook his head.   
"I lost her," he said and flinched a little at how different his voice suddenly sounded. 

Dean kneeled down in front of the Doctor so he could face him, his hand still on his shoulder. 

"I'm so sorry, buddy," he said sympathetically and gesticulated awkwardly with his other hand, "This whole touchy-feely talk is more Sam's division, but I really am sorry. I know what losing beloved people feels like."   
Hesitantly, he added: "And if you want to talk about it, I'm, uhm, here." 

The Doctor realised that he had completely misjudged Dean Winchester. Of course, he was a tough guy, not good at talking about feelings, and the Doctor still did not approve his manner with guns, but he cared. He would set himself on fire before admitting it, of course, but Dean cared so, so much and the Doctor immediately felt a little better. 

"Rose," he said quietly, "her name was Rose." 

Dean sighed. "Must've been one helluva chick." 

The Doctor curled the corner of his lips up into a sad smile. "Oh, yes. She was the best." 

The Doctor was still staring at the words on the wall, and so he didn't see that Dean's eyes weren't fixed on him anymore. Dean was looking at something the Doctor couldn't see. Dean was looking at something that made his eyes grow wide. 

“And I’ll just assume she was a blonde babe?” he asked, sounding strangely distracted. But the Doctor was too deep in his memories to notice. 

“Yes, how do you know?” he asked quietly, not actually caring how Dean knew. He just wanted the pain of missing Rose Tyler, the brilliant, clever, beautiful Rose Tyler, to end. 

Dean’s lips curled up into a smile.   
“Lucky guess. And she has really stunning brown eyes, I presume?” 

Now, Dean had the Doctor’s attention, at least the main part of it. He looked up into Dean’s face.   
“How do you know that?” he repeated, actually interested this time. 

Dean’s smirk grew wider.   
“I’m an exceptionally lucky guesser.”   
After a short pause, Dean continued: “If we take it that she was, against all logical reasoning and odds, here… what would you tell her?” 

The Doctor frowned. He hadn’t seen that question coming, especially not from Dean Winchester. But only imagining it, the only thought of her, was magnificent. Painful, but magnificent. So he closed his eyes and imagined her; her hair, her eyes, her smile. Everything. And his mouth opened without him thinking much about it. 

“I would tell her that out of all wonderful things I’ve seen in my life, she’s the most beautiful one and out of all great people I’ve met in my life, she’s the most important one and out of all the horrible pain I’ve felt in my life, the pain of leaving her was the most disturbing one. That in all languages of all nations in all of time and space there are not enough words to describe all the ways I think she’s brilliant and fantastic. That she deserved someone better than me. That I wish I would have been a better friend. And I would tell her that I miss her. So much.” 

The Doctor’s throat worked and he rubbed his hands over his forehead and his eyes. 

“Then why don’t you go and tell her? If I were you, I’d skip the ‘she deserves someone better’ part, though. That’s so painfully cliché, man,” Dean said and clapped his shoulder. 

The Doctor opened his eyes with a jerk and stared at Dean. The other man grinned and moved his head, pointing at something the Doctor couldn’t see. Slowly, he turned around. 

And there she was. Standing motionless in the hallway of Westminster Abbey like she had stood exactly there for ages, only meters away from him. 

Rose Tyler. 

For what could have been an eternity or only a few seconds, he just stared at her. He had thought he remembered her correctly. He was wrong. In reality, she was so much more… more. She was just so much more of everything he remembered. 

Somehow, he got to his feet and with that, everything became easy and simple.   
Running had always been the easiest thing with Rose Tyler. Only that now, he wasn’t running with her but towards her. Maybe that was why he ran faster than ever before in his life. 

And yet, the distance between her and him seemed to be endless and the time he needed to overcome it seemed to be longer than his entire lifespan, no matter how fast he was moving. 

With every inch he got closer to her, he remembered. He remembered all the adventures they had had together. All the things they had seen. All the battles they had won. All the people they had saved. All the laughs they had shared. All the tears they had shared. All the enemies they had defeated. All the evil they had faced together. All the times she had saved him. All the risks he had taken after she was gone because he just didn’t care anymore. He remembered how much he had loved her. How much he still did. 

Eventually, he could reach her. He slowed down a bit, put out his hand and hesitantly touched her cheek as if to make sure she was real, not just a reflection of his memories. 

A single tear escaped her eye and rolled down the Doctor’s hand. 

And then, she lay in his arms and he held onto her like a drowning onto a lifebelt.

Nine hundred years of his existence and the entire creation of time and space and this exact moment at this exact place was the most important of all of them. Nothing else mattered. There was only Rose Tyler in his arms. There were no planets, no people, no universe, no time or space at all. There was only her. 

The Doctor’s eyes used to be heavy with all the things he had seen, but now he never wanted to close them or turn them off Rose Tyler in fear she might just disappear. Moreover, why would he want to stop looking at something so beautiful?

He had thought that his home was Gallifrey. The TARDIS, maybe. Now he realised that that was wrong. 

Rose Tyler was his home and wherever she was going, he would follow her.   
He would never leave her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Heya there!   
> Sorry I haven't updated in a while; was on a class trip. To a cloister. Yay.   
> Anyway, I hope some people out there enjoyed this chapter. Not sure if I put too much of romantic drama in there, though?   
> Maybe state me your opinion or whatever else tickles your fancy.   
> Love, Me


	7. Crossing Dimensions

"Wait, wait, wait." 

Dean Winchester raised his hands as if to defend himself against all the words raining down on him. 

"Do I get this right? You left Rose Tyler on a beach in the middle of nowhere in _another fucking dimension_ with you but it wasn't really you, just another version of you because you had cloned your own ass during a battle?  
“And you just frigging left her, after you had been departed and reunited and departed and reunited all over again, you just left? So she could be happy with that human metacrisis of you?  
Man, I'm not exactly Shakespear but even I know that's not how you do it with the chicks.  
Especially when it's such a frigging _babe_.” 

He winked at Rose. 

“Oi! Watch it, Winchester!” she said and boxed his shoulder. But she was smiling, and so was the Doctor. Dean was pretty certain they wouldn’t stop too soon. 

“What happened to Doc 2.0, anyway? ‘m sure he didn’t just let you walk out of his dimension, eh?” Dean asked curiously. This whole cloning thing (or whatever it was) kind of fascinated him. 

“He died.”  
Rose shrugged.  
“He was made during battle, _for_ battle even, and after it was over… he didn’t survive,” she said lightly, but Dean could see that it had been hard for her. 

“I’m sorry.” 

But she just shrugged it off, so after a moment, Dean raised his eyebrows at the Doctor.  
“So that’s it, then? Your story? Man, I’ve seen and heard all kinds of crazy crap, but this is listed very much at the top of my weird-as-all-fuck list.” 

The Doctor nodded.  
“Well, that is… that is actually how it happened. If you say it like that it indeed sounds a little, erm, less brilliant than I had planned it back then, though.”  
He scratched the back of his head and smiled sheepishly at Rose. She smiled back.

Dean sighed.  
“Look, this is all very sweet and I hate to break it to you, but this whole tender eye-love-making between you two isn’t going to take us anywhere, alright? And it sure is great that you two are forever reunited again and together you can face anything blah blah and it’s a better love story than twilight and whatnots, but in my experience good things don’t happen. At least not without a reason and in most cases that reason is really fucking bad. You following? “ 

Rose, who had blushed madly at the eye-love-making comment of Dean, went pale at once. She started digging in her jacket pocket like it contained a bomb or something. 

As it turned out to be empty, Dean almost felt relieved (not that he’d believed that bomb thing, but you can never be careful enough, right?), much to the opposite of what Rose looked like. She had gotten even paler and looked in her trouser pocket as well for whatever she was searching. 

“It’s gone… but it can’t be gone…” she murmured. 

The Doctor touched her shoulder; she seemed rather upset.  
“What is gone, Rose?” 

“The poem! I had it here, I know I had it…”  
She accusingly looked at the Doctor, as if he had stolen it from her. 

Meanwhile, Dean couldn’t suppress a snort. 

“You have travelled through dimensions because of a damn poem? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s awesome to have you in this, but, like, how great can a poem be? To me, it’s all just blah, blah, blah, things are like other things, blah, blah, blah…” 

Rose Tyler sighed.  
“The world is ending,” she said seriously. This time, Dean even chuckled. 

“Sorry, hon, but you’re coming a little too late for that. The world ended a coupla years ago. Well, I say ended… it almost ended, but it didn’t, so we can all go home and have some British tea or whatever.”  
He grinned at her. 

“This is not funny, Dean,” she snapped and took a deep breath.  
“It ‘appened a few months ago. It started like an earthquake, but I soon realised it was far from that. The dimensions are breaking apart,” she said urgently and looked directly at the Doctor. 

“They’re breaking apart and mixing up and some are just _vanishing_. That’s what made it possible to walk through the dimensions like it’s a walk in the park. Sometimes I didn’t even notice when I crossed yet another line.  
“Maybe even you or him” – she pointed at Dean – “are in the wrong dimensions and haven’t even noticed yet. Or yours have just mixed up, I don’t know…” her voice got quieter, more desperate, and finally faded out completely. 

The Doctor’s brows furrowed with increasing worry.  
“What about the poem?” he asked. 

“During that earthquake, or whatever it was, thousands of pieces of paper just sorta… fell out of the sky like rain. On all of them there was this weird poem,” Rose explained. 

Dean started to realize that this wasn’t a joke, even though he understood only half of the things Rose was talking about.  
“And what was that poem about?” he asked thoughtfully. 

Rose rubbed her forehead like it was hurting.  
“I… I can’t really remember, it all happened so fast…” she stammered and closed her eyes.  
“It was about Time Lords, that’s what got me so worried after all, and about a war. There was also a mentioning of a righteous man, whatever that is, and of angels and demons and something called _Croatoan_ …” 

Dean suddenly grabbed her shoulders and shook her slightly.  
“What did you say? Did you just say _Croatoan?”_

Rose, a little startled by Dean’s outburst, simply nodded. The Doctor placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder.  
“Stop it,” he demanded quietly and added: “What is it? What’s _Croatoan?"_

The hunter did indeed let go of Rose, but instead of an answer, he turned around and kicked the nearest pew, then ran his fingers through his hair. 

“No, no, no, _no!_ Son of a bitch!” 

The Doctor and Rose, a little alarmed by Dean’s behavior, exchanged a look. 

The green-eyed man sighed.  
“I need to talk to Sam. Where’s that moose of a brother and our dynamic detective duo when you need them? Where the fuck did they go?!” 

Rose glanced at the Doctor.  
“There’re more?” 

He nodded.  
“We kind of keep running into each other. Long story, I’ll tell you later.” He then turned to Dean.  
“I don’t know. So what do we do now?” 

“Well, first we find them and then we find that stupid ass poem,” Dean grunted. 

“And how do we do that?” 

Suddenly, a small smile crossed Dean’s features.  
“Well,” he said, “You wanted to meet that time travelling friend of mine, anyways, didn’t you?”


	8. An Angel of The Lord

“Sorry, what?” 

“I said: You wanted to meet that time travelling friend of mine, anyways, didn’t you,” Dean repeated patiently. 

The Doctor blinked at him. “And how is your friend going to know where and when exactly we are?” 

“We could use my mobile,” Rose suggested and pulled it out of her pocket.   
“It works through the entire universe and in whatever time you are,” she explained to Dean. 

“That’s a really nice idea, princess, but I’m afraid I’m more of the old-fashioned kind.”   
The hunter winked at her. 

“What do you mean, the old-fashioned kind?” The Doctor seemed to get more confused by the second. 

“We’re going to pray to him,” Dean said simply.

“What? What? _What???_ ” The Doctor’s face was a single query. 

“You mean like… your friend is God?” Rose was doing her best not to sound disrespectful, yet she couldn’t hide a slight look of disapproval in her eyes. 

“Heavens, no!” Dean chuckled slightly at his own pun and then, not without pride, announced: “My friend is an angel of the Lord. And I’m being literal here. But I have to warn you: angels can be douches sometimes. And they don’t wear diapers or have blonde curls or chubby cheeks. Well, most of them don’t.” 

Rose just stared at him, not even trying to hide her disbelief anymore, and the Doctor gently placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder.   
“Look, Dean,” he said softly, “I’m really not trying to insult your faith or anything, but, well, angels don’t exist.” 

“Oh, yeah? And who says that?” Dean asked, grinning smugly. He just couldn’t wait for his “I told you so” – speech. 

“I’m very old, Dean. And in all that nine hundred years of time and space I’ve met all sorts of creatures and species, but I’ve never met a literal angel.” 

“Then it’s more than time to change that!” Dean exclaimed and folded his hands.   
“Thee Castiel who art in heaven currently I suppose, please bring thy feathery ass down here into the year of 1887 because we got ourselves in trouble once again. Also here’s this one guy that really wants to meet thou and doesn’t believe in thy kind.” 

Dean grinned to himself. Dropping the “thou”s and “thee”s everywhere certainly couldn’t hurt the dramatic effect. Though, nothing happened at first. The hunter rolled his eyes. 

“C’mon, Cas, buddy, don’t be a dick. Oh, and by the way, I’m talking to the Castiel of the early twenty-first century here, not to the 1887-Cas, just to make this clear.” 

Finally, he heard the familiar flutter of wings, followed by a thud and a soft groan. Castiel had rather ungracefully landed on one of the church pews. 

“Cas! You okay, pal?” Dean hurried over and helped his friend into an upright position. 

“Yes, I’m okay,” Castiel lied as he had halfway recovered. Dean shook his head. 

“I’m sorry I had to call you again, Cas. I know you need _our_ help for once and I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t urgent. But we’re in really, really deep trouble. But then again – when aren’t we?”

Castiel slowly came to his feet. “Don’t apologize. It’s been a long time since I last influenced the flow of time; I needed a lot of heavenly power to manage. It has taken some of the pressure inside of me away,” he said and sounded so relieved that it made Dean’s stomach lurch. 

“Oi! Where did you come from, then?” Both Castiel and Dean gave a jerk. Dean had completely forgotten about the Doctor and Rose in Castiel’s presence. He pushed the shame that wanted to crawl up inside of him deep, deep down. 

Cas, now fully standing on his own two feet, turned around to the Doctor and Rose. He examined them both trough narrowed eyes.   
“I came from your future. I came from where you’ve come from, too.” 

“But that’s impossible!” The Doctor protested. Dean didn’t like the Doctor trusting Castiel so little but he decided to just let him play his little game. For some reason it endlessly amused him seeing Cas talking to the Doctor, who was so old and had seen so much, like he was some sort of naïve child.   
Finally it was time for the Doctor to be impressed.

“It’s obviously not impossible. Time is fluid. It's not easy, but we can bend it on occasion. But you should know that, shouldn’t you, Time Lord?”

Dean was once again surprised by Castiel, who just occasionally dropped his bombshell like it was nothing. He wondered if Castiel wasn’t aware about how dramatic he could be. 

Rose stared at Cas with her eyes and mouth open and the Doctor stepped a little closer to Dean and Cas. 

“Who are you?” He didn’t sound threatening or even intimidating, just truly interested and confused. Dean just couldn’t figure out how he did it. 

“I’m an angel of The Lord,” Castiel said in his low voice and intensified his stare. Dean caught himself almost speaking the words along. 

“Nah, that’s not true.” Again the Doctor sounded in no way insulting or angry, he only was genuinely convinced that there was nothing like angels in this universe. Castiel lowered his head aside a little and squinted at the Doctor and his companion. 

Dean knew what was coming next and stepped a little away from Castiel. Of course he wouldn’t admit it, but he loved Cas being all mysterious and epic. He smiled to himself as a thunder resonated in the church and all the lamps burst. Lightnings that weren’t really lightnings lit up the scenery and some sparks flew and in that entire spectacle Castiel majestically towered between the church pews, the shadow of a pair of huge, invisible wings hovering behind him. 

Dean would never get tired of this, even though he wouldn’t admit it. Castiel’s wings looked somewhat larger than the last times he had seen them (for some reason Dean wished Cas would show them more often) and seemed to be glowing in a blue light. The angel was literally bursting with energy. 

Both Rose and the Doctor let out a gasp of surprise. Rose flinched away a little and halfway hid behind a pillar. Dean stepped up to her and carefully placed a hand on her shoulder. She winced a little as he touched her, but then looked at him in relieve. 

“Hey, princess,” Dean whispered, “Don’t be afraid. Cas is one of the good guys.”   
Even though, Dean had to admit, his angel friend could be intimidating if he really wanted to. Sometimes Dean forgot that Cas was a fucking hurricane disguised as a man. 

Rose nodded but nonetheless pressed himself closer to Dean. He was completely astonished by much trust she had into him after so little time. In that point she resembled the Doctor, Dean thought. A heart like an ocean. 

Meanwhile, the Doctor stood beguiled and enchanted, staring at Castiel in awe.   
“Look at you, you’re beautiful!” he exclaimed after the racket had stopped. 

Dean frowned. You couldn’t just go and tell random dudes they were beautiful, could you? Especially not when it was Cas. 

Still, Cas smiled at the Doctor. “Thank you.” 

“No, I mean it!” The Doctor excitedly gesticulated with his hands. “This was magnificent.”

“Thank you. So, would you like to tell me the purpose of your call now or do you need a moment to regain control of your emotional response to me?” Cas asked and a short expression of amusement flashed over his face. Dean sneered. That sly bastard. 

“Oh! Right!” The Doctor rubbed the back of his head. “But before that I need to know who you really are.” 

“Dude.” Dean stepped closer to them again. “Wasn’t that light show enough for you? What else do you need? You wanna visit the birthplace of Jesus Christ?” 

Cas shot him an “inappropriate, Dean” – glance, but before he could say anything, Rose stepped closer as well. 

“And… are you a real, honest-to-God angel?” she asked shyly. 

Castiel smiled at her. “Yes,” he said simply. 

“We know about the entire Universe. We know about the creation of time and space. We know about you, Rose Tyler. And we know about the Time Lords and about Gallifrey. I’m sorry,” he added, turning to the Doctor with the last sentences. 

The Doctor shook his head, the suggestion of deep pain crossed his features before the expression turned into confusion.   
“How…?” 

“The Universe was made by my father. Me and my brothers and sisters, we’re many in numbers, scattered all around the universe. We must not leave our field of duty and for all I know my brothers and sisters who are not responsible for the happening on earth could be long dead. Nonetheless, Gallifrey may be beyond our plane, but not beyond my knowing. You have my condolences,” Castiel explained quietly. 

“Thank you,” the Doctor answered just as quietly and his throat worked. Rose gently took his hand. 

“You never told me that,” Dean threw in, trying not to sound insulted. 

Castiel just shrugged. “You never asked.” 

The Doctor had overcome his little shock and was smiling again.   
“It’s an honour and a pleasure to meet you, Castiel, angel of The Lord. I’m the Doctor, by the way,” he beamed. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Doctor, Lord of Time.” 

“Ahem.” Dean coughed slightly to interrupt the little moment the two were obviously having. For some reason, he didn’t like that. 

“Anyways,” he continued, “We are – once again – in very deep trouble, Cas. Not only that this clown directly zapped our asses into the year 1887 with his _literal time and space machine”_ – he pointed at the Doctor – “but now also Sam and some other helpful weirdos wandered off to I don’t know where and we still need to find them and as the cherry on top Rose Tyler came walking through the dimensions to tell us that the world is once again going to end.” 

Castiel’s eyes grew narrow. “You’re joking.” 

“Wish I was.” 

Cas sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. He looked so tired that it caused Dean almost physical pain. 

“Look, man,” he tried to backpedal, “I’m sure we can find Sam and company alone as well. Sorry I called you. You just wander off and do what you do.” 

But the angel shook his head. “No, Dean. I want to help. But I can’t find Sam, the angel sigils I craved into your ribs are still hiding him from me.” 

“He’s with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.” 

A tiny expression of surprise flashed over Cas’s face, then he nodded. “I understand. I will find them.” 

With a flutter of his wings, Castiel disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!   
> Sorry it took me so long. I've had a writers block for like weeks and then suddenly it just sorta flowed out of me. You all know the struggle.   
> Anyway, it's still flowing, you might say, so stay seated because the next chapter will follow today!


	9. Tea-Time

A few moments later, Cas was back again. Alone.  
He swayed on his feet and Rose, despite the respect she still had for Castiel, grabbed his arm so he wouldn’t fall. 

“Whoa there! You alright, mate?” 

He gratefully smiled at her but left her question unanswered. Rose carefully led him to the nearest pew where he sat down and tried to catch his breath. Dean sat down next to him and put a hand on his back. 

“Hey, buddy, you need anything?” 

Castiel shook his head and said, still a little out of breath: “I found Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, Sam was probably still with them. They are in a police box; I recognized it as Gallifreyan technology. I was not sure if it wouldn’t be unwise to enter a machine that powerful in my current state.” 

“They went to the TARDIS. That’s a clever move. Why didn’t I think of that?” The Doctor blinked. 

“Alright, Cas. Thanks. Really, I mean it. Are you coming with us? I’m sure it wouldn’t harm you or the TARDIS. And according to the Doc it’s the safest place in the universe. He can come, can’t he, Doctor?” Dean asked. 

“Sure! I’m certain John and Sherlock would love to meet an angel, and so would the TARDIS. She usually doesn’t react with any other form of energy or power, so that shouldn’t be a problem, either,” the Doctor beamed. 

“That’s very kind,” Cas said without looking up, as if his head was too heavy to be carried by his spine, “But I’m afraid that’s not possible.” 

“Cas.” Dean grabbed the angel by both his shoulders. Firstly because he looked ready to pass out, and then because Cas didn’t seem to realize how vulnerable he was in this state. “Buddy, please. You can’t return to heaven, not like this. There’re still a lot of angels that are not exactly all cupcakes and unicorns with you. _Please,_ Cas,” he as good as begged. 

But the dark-haired man bleakly shook his head.  
“I’m sorry, Dean, but I have to go.” 

Castiel stood up, just to double over in pain in the next second. Arms tightly folded around his chest as if he was afraid it was going to rip him apart, he looked up to Dean, his eyes a single plea.  
“Please, Dean,” he whispered, “hurry.” 

And in the next second, the angel was gone. 

“Jesus motherfucking shit son of a bitch Christ!” Dean cursed rather indecently. He then turned around to see the Doctor and Rose looking at him sympathetically. 

“What?” he snapped and started stumping towards the exit. “Come on, let’s go back to the future.” 

***

Sherlock, John and Sam were indeed in the TARDIS, having a nice little chat and some 1887-cookies. 

“You want a biscuit?” John asked as soon as they had set foot into the TARDIS. 

“No, but I’ll take a _cookie,_ thank you very much,” Dean snarled and flopped himself onto the ground. 

“Geez, Dean, who pissed you on the shoes?” Sam asked, nibbling on a cookie.

“Oh, y’know, Sammy,” Dean said exaggeratedly eager, “While you old-maidish washwomen had a little gluttony over here, we just found out about the end of the world and met a long-lost girl from another dimension.” 

“Yeah, very funny, Dean,” his brother said, shaking his head and returning to his cookie, “And by the way, eating a few biscuits is _not_ gluttony.” 

“Biscuits? _Biscuits?_ What are you, British?!” 

“Oh! Who are you, then?” John, who had noticed Rose Tyler standing next to the Doctor and still holding his hand, asked. 

She didn’t seem to like all the attention suddenly drawn to her and awkwardly stepped from one foot onto the other. 

“Uh, hi. I’m Rose Tyler.” 

“She’s my brilliant companion!” The Doctor beamed, swinging his arm a little. 

“Wait, didn’t you say you lost your companion?” John asked confusedly. 

“Yeah, I –“ 

“No, no, no!” Dean interrupted them. “Not like this. Then everybody will talk in like thirty seconds and nobody gets anything. So, shut the hell up and sit the fuck down, we got a story to tell. Oh, and by the way” – he smiled smugly at his brother – “I really wasn’t joking.” 

*** 

When they finished, everyone stared at them for a moment in shock and disbelief. 

“Please tell me this is not true,” Sam groaned and leaned himself against the TARDIS console. 

“Afraid it is,” Rose sighed and looked each of them into the eyes. “So, what do we do now?” 

The Doctor furrowed his brows for a moment, then smiled broadly and jumped to his feet.  
“Tea,” he said, “I’ll make some tea. Tea makes everything better!” 

Both Dean and Sherlock rolled their eyes, and as they caught each other doing so, they rolled their eyes again, just to grin afterwards. 

“Wait, this thing has a kitchen?” Sam asked in astonishment. 

The Doctor frowned at Sam. _“Of course_ she has a kitchen,” he said like it was the most evident thing on earth. Rose got up as well to help the Doctor. 

“Is your friend really an angel?” John suddenly asked, eyes as big as mill wheels. 

“John.” Sherlock sighed deeply. “After all that time you spent with me I would have thought that at least some of my logical thinking has rubbed off on you. I obviously was wrong.”

Dean grinned conspiratorially at John. “Don’t listen to him, Johnny-Boy,” he said through a mouth full of cookies, “He doesn’t know anything.” 

“Oh, well, I do know some things, actually. I know for example that you’re afraid to shave your – “ 

“Kids! Can we focus, please?” Sam interrupted in utter disgust. Dean poked his tongue out to Sherlock. 

“Dean! How old are you, five?” Sam shook his head. “What about Cas? How’s he?” 

“He’s getting worse, Sammy. Said the little trip into the past helped him, but, like, I don’t really believe him.” 

“What do you think this whole angel disease is about?” 

“I JUST DON’T KNOW,” Dean said perhaps a little too loudly, given the close proximity of the other three. 

“Are we a little aggressive? Might this result out of the irrational fear of flying in the TARDIS again?” Sherlock sneered. 

“Well,” Dean answered, “First of all fuck you. That’s what results out of that.” 

Sam groaned. “Alright,” he said, “I’m going to check if the Doctor and Rose need a hand. Please don’t do anything stupid like starting the third world war before the first or whatever.” 

John looked at him with an expression that said “You can’t just leave me here with these two human catastrophes” but didn’t say anything. 

It took Sam a while to find the kitchen (the TARDIS was huge!) but eventually he heard the voices of the Doctor and Rose and just followed them. Finally standing under the doorframe to the kitchen, he stopped and just looked at them. The Doctor and Rose seemed happy. The world was ending and nonetheless they were happy, knowing they finally had found each other again. And Sam watched them because it reminded him of the way he used to be around Jess. 

“So… has there been anyone else?” Rose asked casually. 

The Doctor raised his head from the water he was boiling to look at her.  
“No,” he answered softly, “I travelled alone.” 

Rose shook her head. “You wouldn’t have had to. I mean, when you left me… I wanted you to be happy, you know? Not lonely. After Sara-Jane you carried on as well, didn’t you?” 

“Yes.” He lowered his head again. “But you’re not Sara-Jane.” 

They kept silence for a moment, then Rose spoke up again: “Your hair is different now. “

“What? No!” 

Rose laughed and the Doctor joined in. 

“Yes it is!” 

“No, it’s not!” 

“It _is_ different. Sort of longer and tidier.” 

She walked over to him and ran her finger through his hair until it was even messier than usual. “Now that’s more like it,” she smiled but left her fingers as they were, just looking at the Doctor. He was staring back at her, completely forgetting his boiling water. 

Sam started to feel bad for watching them having such an intimate moment and cleared his throat to catch their attention. They both nearly jumped a foot, looking guiltily at Sam. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to look if you need a hand,” he said apologetically.

“Maybe you could get the tray out of the cupboard? I and the Doctor both aren’t tall enough to reach it, but that shouldn’t be a problem for you. Thanks, that’d be great,” Rose said, returning to her task. 

“So, how long have you two been a couple?” Sam asked, opening the shelves in search of the tray. 

The Doctor almost dropped the teapot. 

“We’re not a couple! I mean, I suppose we’re not a couple, we never do couple-y stuff. Do we look like a couple? We’re not a couple,” Rose babbled, her face glowing red. 

“What do you mean, you’re not a couple?” Sam’s eyebrows almost flew off his face.  
It took him a moment to remember his manners after this surprise, as not to say shock, and he quickly added: “I mean, I’m sorry. I just thought… well. Nevermind. I’m sorry.” 

Grinning to himself, he hurried to transport the tray out of the room to the others. They so were a couple.


	10. If the World ends...

Dean Winchester’s second ride in the TARDIS was in no way more enjoyable than the first. Although it wasn’t as bumpy as the first, he still thought his intestinal was going to come out of his ears and he could use his appendix as a bubble gum. 

Anyhow, after they had landed and he had halfway swallowed down his insides again, he felt almost good-tempered. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe there was more to that suspicious blue glow-stick of the Doctor than he would admit (that, Dean thought, would at least explain why he was so annoyingly cheerful all the damn time). 

On the other hand, this phenomenon of Dean being unusually light hearted always occurred on days when his and Castiel’s ways crossed. Of course he wouldn’t tell anyone and neither should you because he then certainly _will_ come and find you sooner or later.

The TARDIS landed a couple of streets from 221B in an empty garage, which was fortunate, as Sam pointed out. Nobody would see the spaceship in here. 

“People never do,” the Doctor argued as he almost unconsciously took Rose’s hand, as if it was a natural reflex of his. “The obvious is invisible to most.” 

Sherlock shot him an approving glance. 

“Well, I _did_ notice it when it appeared on the middle of the friggin’ street and almost killed us, if you recall,” Dean threw in, wildly gesticulating with his hands. “My life was flashing before my eyes, man!” 

Sam snorted. “Yes, sure, Dean. The only thing flashing in that moment was the saliva you spit out as you cursed your own ass off.” 

“My apologies. But I certainly did not intend to harm you or anybody else. It’s the TARDIS. There’s something off with her, but…” He worriedly looked over his shoulder at the TARDIS one last time as they left the garage. “… I just can’t figure out what it is.” 

“You mean like your spaceship is sick?” John pulled a face. “I think I’ll need something stronger than tea when we get home, mate.” 

In that moment, Rose excitedly grabbed the Doctor’s arm. “Hush!”

“What?” they all asked unison, craning their necks to see what Rose was so excited about. 

“Hush!” she repeated, put one finger on her lips and pointed at a group of kids playing hopscotch nearby. 

“What?” Dean repeated, whispering this time as he did not dare break the mysterious atmosphere. 

“They’re singing,” Rose said, pure astonishment (as not to say horror) written on her pretty face. 

“Yes, children do that occasionally. Would you consider it necessary to dance of joy or could we now carry on?” Sherlock asked under his breath and performed a rather impassionate roll of his eyes. 

“Uh, why exactly are we whispering?” John asked and got skillfully ignored by everyone. 

Rose pulled at the Doctor’s coat sleeve. “No, you don’t understand,” she said urgently, “they’re singing _the poem! “ ___

__Before anyone could react, she walked up to the children._ _

__“Hello sweetheart,” she said to a blonde girl that couldn’t be older than eleven and kneeled down in front of her, “You sing very well. What’s that song, though? I’ve never heard it before.”_ _

__The little girl beamed at her. “Everybody at school sings it,” she explained._ _

__Rose nodded. “I see. It’s a quite nice song, don’t you think? Could you maybe write it down for me? You can write, can’t you?”_ _

__She nodded eagerly. “Of course! Some of the stupid boys in my school can’t, though.”_ _

__“That’s why I asked you. I immediately saw that you’re so clever!” She turned to the others who had caught up with her. “Anybody’s got a piece of paper or something?”_ _

__Whereas Sam, Dean, Sherlock and John declined, the Doctor’s face lit up and he pulled a full sized sketch block along with three different pencils out of his tiny jacket pocket._ _

__“Son of a…” Dean started before he remembered he was around children, “How did that even work? Anything else you got in there? A printing office maybe, or the city of Paris?”_ _

__The Doctor grinned and watched the girl writing madly onto the paper. “Time Lord science. It’s bigger on the inside.”_ _

__Dean rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever, Hermione.”_ _

__When the girl was finished, Rose practically ripped the piece of paper out of her hands and said, a little out of breath: “Thank you, sweetie. Now go play with the others.”_ _

__“Would it be possible to read this when we’re home?” John asked as they all tried to read it at the same time and bumped their heads into each other, which looked actually quite ridiculous given that they all were tall grown men and one alien with the current gracefulness of a herd of hippopotami. “Because firstly it’s already getting dark and secondly I still need that drink.”_ _

__So they hurried back to where their journey had begun in the first place and then, gathered around the fireplace, Rose unfolded the piece of paper and started reading it aloud:_ _

_____One, two, three, four,_  
_Silence fell in Trenzalore,_  
_Five, six, seven, eight,_  
_Not a single word was said_  
_Nine, ten, eleven, twelve,_  
_As he was standing at his grave,_  
_Twelve, eleven, ten, nine,_  
_Forever he goes back in time_  
_Eight, seven, six, five,_  
_For her he will give his life,_  
_Four, three, two, one,_  
_Fear what they call “Demons run”_

_____Good evening,_  
_Good night,_  
_The Time Lords and the Angels died_  
_Bedecked with roses,_  
_With carnations adorned,_  
_The heroes of today_  
_Tomorrow they will be mourned_  
_So slip under the covers_  
_And close your eyes_  
_Demons Run_  
_Is when they rise_  
_The Lord of Time, the last of them all,_  
_The angel with the farthest fall,_  
_The righteous man, made all of lies,_  
_The lonely thinker, cold as ice,_  
_A man of justice, good of heart,_  
_The Bad Wolf was there right from the start,_  
_And the broken soldier, at so many graves he kneeled,_  
_Those are the ones on the battlefield._  
_Tomorrow morn, if God wills, you’ll wake once again._  
_Tomorrow morn, if God wills, you’ll wake once again._

_____One, two, three, four,_  
_When a good man goes to war_  
_Five, six, seven, eight,_  
_Croatoan, the Mark, an angel blade,_  
_Nine, ten, eleven, twelve,_  
_Brother’s keeper, sound and safe,_  
_Twelve, eleven, ten, nine,_  
_On a Tuesday rise and shine,_  
_Eight, seven, six, five,_  
_When the darkness comes alive,_  
_Four, three, two, one,_  
_Fear what they call “Demons Run”_

_____Good evening,_  
_Good night,_  
_The Time Lords and the Angels died_  
_Bedecked with roses,_  
_With carnations adorned,_  
_The heroes of today_  
_Tomorrow they will be mourned_  
_So slip under the covers_  
_And close your eyes_  
_Demons Run_  
_Is when they rise_  
_The Lord of Time, the last of them all,_  
_The angel with the farthest fall,_  
_The righteous man, made all of lies,_  
_The lonely thinker, cold as ice,_  
_A man of justice, good of heart,_  
_The Bad Wolf was there right from the start,_  
_And the broken soldier, at so many graves he kneeled,_  
_Those are the ones on the battlefield._  
_Tomorrow morn, if God wills, you’ll not wake again._  
_Tomorrow morn, if God wills, you’ll not wake again._

_____One, two, three, four,_  
_Blood of red as he hit the floor,_  
_Five, six, seven, eight,_  
_Loneliness will be his fate,_  
_Nine, ten, eleven, twelve,_  
_In science he will lose himself,_  
_Twelve, eleven, ten, nine,_  
_If his companion lets him cross the line,_  
_Eight, seven, six, five,_  
_Only one thing he will not survive,_  
_Four, three, two, one,_  
_Fear what they call “Demons Run”_

_____Good evening,_  
_Good night,_  
_The Time Lords and the Angels died_  
_Bedecked with roses,_  
_With carnations adorned,_  
_The heroes of today_  
_Tomorrow they will be mourned_  
_So slip under the covers_  
_And close your eyes_  
_Demons Run_  
_Is when they rise_  
_The Lord of Time, the last of them all,_  
_The angel with the farthest fall,_  
_The righteous man, made all of lies,_  
_The lonely thinker, cold as ice,_  
_A man of justice, good of heart,_  
_The Bad Wolf was there right from the start,_  
_And the broken soldier, at so many graves he kneeled,_  
_Those are the ones on the battlefield._  
_Tomorrow morn, if God has mercy, you’ll never wake again._  
_Tomorrow morn, if God has mercy, you’ll never wake again._

__They fell silent._ _

__“This is depressing,” John then stated and was the first to finally speak. “Like, really bloody depressing.”_ _

__“That shit sounds like a fucking nursery rhyme. One that gives you the creeps, but still,” Dean added._ _

__“Not a bad observation, Dean,” Sherlock commended and surprised everyone, including himself. He hurried to explain himself a little further: “The second, fourth and sixth stanza contain parts of the German nursery rhyme ‘Good evening, Good night’, written by Johannes Brahms in 1868.”_ _

__“Why on earth do you know German nursery rhymes?” Dean asked at the same time that his brother commented: “Why the hell would this prophecy or whatever it is be in the style of a German nursery rhyme?”_ _

__Neither of them got an answer and so they all just stared at the piece of paper in silence._ _

__“The first stanza is about you, isn’t it, Doctor?” Rose then asked quietly._ _

__“I believe so.”_ _

__“But you’re not going to die, are you?” Rose asked a little too quickly._ _

__“Don’t be ridiculous, princess. Nobody’s going to die just because a stupid ass poem says it. Not on my watch.” Dean shook his head._ _

__“Look.” His brother pointed at the piece of paper again. “Third’s about us.”_ _

__“Croatoan? The Mark? Again? Frigging again?” Dean sighed deeply. “This is going to be fun.”_ _

__“On a Tuesday rise and shine? That sounds like Gabriel, doesn’t it?” Sam thought out loud._ _

__“But Gabriel is dead,” his brother disagreed._ _

__“Maybe that’s just what he wants us to think?”_ _

__Dean considered this for a moment. “Maybe. But even archangels don’t have the power to break dimensions apart, do they? Moreover, this is a little too hardcore, even for Gabe’s games, isn’t it? ‘m gonna ask Cas about this the next time he visits, though.”_ _

__“Hang on a second,” Rose interrupted them, “Are you saying that not only angels are real, but demons are, too?”_ _

__“Of course they’re not. Neither of them, that’d be ridiculous,” Sherlock answered flatly._ _

__“But we saw Castiel,” Rose argued._ _

__“What you saw must have been an optical illusion of sorts, nothing more. Just a magic trick.”_ _

__Dean’s jaw tightened. “Oh, is that so, Mister Knows-It-All? You travelled in time today in a box that’s bigger on the inside, but angels are an impossibility? What kind of logic is that?”_ _

__“Science is perpetually evolving. Time travelling might seem impossible today, who says it will be in the future? But angels? Please. Angels are just a story to appease those that are too small-minded to accept the hard realities of life. For example people with dead parents.”_ _

___“Excuse me?”_ Dean was halfway on his feet, his lips a tight line and his eyes glowing with anger. _ _

__“Sherlock! That’s enough,” John said at the same time that Sam placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder._ _

__They fell silent again._ _

__„Well,” Dean said finally, „We sure as hell ain’t gonna save the world today, so I’ll go to a bar and have a drink or two. Everybody who wants to come along comes now or may remain silent forever.”_ _

__Fortunately, nobody wanted to come and, although Sam shot him a disapproving glare as he was more than certain that it would be more than “just a drink or two”, Dean gladly went alone. He needed to sort things out with himself. About Crowley, about the Doctor and Rose, about Sherlock and John, about Sammy, about the possibly imminent end of the world (again!) and especially about Cas._ _

__Or maybe he just needed to drink himself into a stupor._ _

__British bars were weird. Everything in Britain was weird. Detectives and Time Lords and Aliens and German nursery rhymes and Angels exploding with energy were weird. Or maybe it was Dean himself who was getting weird. Maybe had been weird all his life._ _

__Dean hadn’t been drunk in a long time which wasn’t exactly about him stepping short with the alcohol but about the ridiculously large amount of it that was needed to get him really drunk in these days._ _

__Today was one of those nights when he was more than keen to pay for whatever it took to make his thoughts heavy and his mind careless._ _

__And so on and on it went, glasses of hard liquor wandered over the counter like words during a chatty conversation. Except that Dean was having that conversation with himself._ _

__During the first hours his thoughts just wouldn’t leave him alone. First, that goddamned fuck of a poem wouldn’t leave his mind. Hadn’t one end of the world been enough? Apparently not._ _

__After the poem, he came to think about the weird people he had met in the last days. An alien? A girl from another dimension? A douchebag-genius that could read him like he was an open book? A retired, hobbit-faced soldier with nerves of literal steel and a kink for the word “bloody”? What the hell, man?!_ _

__He couldn’t deny that they were all good people, though. And in that couple of hours they had worked together he had gained a certain kind of affection towards them. Maybe because they were just as weird as himself._ _

__Eventually and much to his displeasure, his mind decided it was a good time to think about Castiel. Castiel with his stupid angel mojo and his stupid heavenly disease and his stupid big heart and his stupid pretty blue eyes and his stupid low voice and his stupid messy sex-hair and his stupid goddamn fucking lips that made Dean think of all sorts of things._ _

__Dean had tried to deny it. All the way. He had told himself and anyone who wanted to hear it (or didn’t want to hear it) that Cas was his best friend and always would be and that, of course, he was concerned about him. And hell, concerned he was. About Cas’s well-being. But also about anyone ever finding out that something went wrong with his friendship with Castiel. Something went so seriously wrong that Dean now and since a long time actually, wanted him and Cas to be more than friends. He was concerned that even Cas might find out and turn away from him._ _

__He tried to deny it even now, but, God, he was way too drunk. What was the use, anyway? If the world was ending (and, knowing his luck, Dean was pretty sure of that), they were all going to die anyway. So if he could keep it a secret until then… no harm done._ _

__Dean was disgusted by himself. But then again, that feeling wasn’t new to him. He ordered one more drink, and then one more, and then one more, and then he lost count and finally, all thoughts left his head._ _

__However, when he eventually left the bar in the early morning hours, stinking drunk and humming something that may or may not be described as a melody to himself, the thoughts came back. Except that this time, he didn’t care at all. Well, they were going to die. Well, there were aliens and geniuses and other dimensions out there. Well, he liked that stupid son of a bitch angel more than he should. Whatever._ _

__Dean grinned and shook his head. In this moment, there seemed to be nothing more hilarious than what the dark-haired bastard could do to Dean._ _

__“Cas, Cas, Cas,” Dean sing-songed with his heavy tongue as he stumbled along in the dark alley and kept shaking his head, wondering about what angel sex would feel like._ _

__Only seconds before the flutter of wings became audible, he realised what he’d done._ _

__“Dean,” Cas said as he appeared only meters away from the hunter, leaning against the brick wall and examining the hunter. Slightly sobered by the sudden change of events, Dean scratched the back of his head._ _

__“Cas. How are you?”_ _

__“I am slightly better than nine hours ago. Getting to you into the past has absorbed some of my energy, but I’m afraid that won’t last long. What is the purpose of your call?”_ _

__Dean, completely ignoring Cas’s question, inched a little closer._ _

__“Oh. ‘S there anything I can do?”_ _

__“Well.” Cas pulled at his collar. For some reason, he seemed even more awkward than it was normal for him.  
“It appears to be helpful when I exhaust myself. Physically or mentally.” _ _

__“Is that so?” Dean thoughtfully placed a finger under his chin, still moving closer to the angel. “Like when your heart beats really fast and you’re sweating and panting?”  
His voice was low and raspy, even in his ears. _ _

__Now Castiel almost seemed nervous and pressed himself against the brick wall.  
“Y-Yes, like that,” he stammered, “Dean, didn’t you talk to me about personal space?” _ _

__“Fuck personal space,” Dean grunted. He was standing so close to Castiel that he could smell him. He smelled somewhat like night and rain and a little like something unearthly. Cas squinted at him through his blue eyes, his pupils so wide they almost looked black._ _

__“Dean, you’re irresponsibly drunk,” he stated. Dean could feel his hot breath on his face._ _

__“Hell yes, I am. And you’re irresponsibly hot considering that you’re a dying son of a bitch. How tremendously impolite of you.”_ _

__He suddenly slammed Cas against the wall and nailed him down with his arms, staring directly into those blue depths of his._ _

__“I-I’m sorry,” Cas choked out._ _

__“So am I,” Dean smirked, “Physical exhaustion, huh? Oh god, Cas, I’m gonna make you pant and sweat, like you wouldn’t believe…” he babbled through the fuzzy feeling in his head.  
He started kissing Cas’s neck, sucking here and there and pressing himself even closer to the angel. It was hilarious how long he’d been waiting for this._ _

__Castiel let out a surprised gasp and half-heartedly tried to push Dean away.  
“Dean, you’re drunk,” he repeated, almost pleadingly._ _

__“So you’ve said,” Dean grinned. “And I’m sure as hell ain’t gonna let you die. And you said physical exhaustion will be useful, so… let me exhaust you,” he whispered into Cas’s ear._ _

__“Dean, you don’t know what you’re doing,” Cas protested weakly. Dean pressed his lips against his to shush him. Time for talking was later. Talking was boring.  
He kissed the angel roughly and desperately. He could taste the sweat on Cas’s lips and casually let his hand slip into the other man’s pants. _ _

__Cas’s head involuntarily reared backwards and he let out a surprised cry that quickly escalated into a small moan._ _

__“There we go,” Dean slurred and smirked at Cas who was looking at him like he was working some sort of wicked magic._ _

__Then, Dean kissed Cas again. And Cas kissed him back. And all the almighty heavens, it felt good. Dean wanted to never stop. But suddenly, Cas turned away and broke into a desperate coughing fit that bent him at the waist._ _

__“Cas? You alright?” Dean panicked. He could hardly stand on his own two feet, how was he going to help Cas in this state?_ _

__Castiel looked up to him with bloodshot eyes.  
“I really should be going,” he managed to get out as he tried to catch his breath. And in the next second, the angel was gone. _ _

__“Son of a bitch!” Dean slammed his fist into the wall. A bad move considering that the world was already turning way too fast. That wall-punching fully made him lose his balance and with a small groan, he fell to the ground._ _

__Before his head touched the cement, he’d already passed out._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we are again.  
> First of all I have to explain some things:  
> 1) The Story is set after the 10th season of SPN. They did get rid of the mark, however without any consequences whatsoever. Yes, I know, that's unrealistic, but oh well. I hope you can forgive me.  
> 2) I know that Demons Run and the Darkness appeared on the show(s) as well but for this story I've made up my own Darkness and Demons Run.  
> 3) I go by the head canon of virgin!Cas because I don't like Hannah and I really don't think she deserved to take something as precious from him. Someone else should do that. (Dean, obviously.)  
> 4) Please forgive me for my miserable poetry skills. I know I suck. I'm so sorry.  
> 5) Please also forgive me for my shipper-madness. I just can't control myself and today I was feeling really, really, REALLY destiel ya feel. (Man I'm asking for a very lot of forgiveness today)  
> 6) Maybe if it tickles your fancy you could leave me a comment with your opinion or suggestions/requests for the plot or your favourite oatmeal recipe (at this point I'd like to thank the person who actually did this the last time I asked for it. You're awesome and I love you). 
> 
> Have a nice day!


	11. After Effects

Dean Winchester awoke to a horrible pain. His everything hurt and with an enormous groan he got himself into an upright position. Through the fog of his agony he eventually could make out more specific areas from which the pain was radiating in waves – one, his arm, which he had laid on the whole night and two – and more important as more painful – his head. 

He took a look around himself and almost fainted from the bright morning light of an annoyingly cheerful sun.

Dean sat on a dirty, cobbled street, leaning against an even dirtier brick wall in some sort of backstreet. He noticed a placard praising the fabulous fish ‘n’ chips of Grumpy Gustav’s Gastronomy.

 _Ah, British ground,_ he thought before his eyes darted back to the placard. Britain? What the hell was he doing here? How did he even get here? 

He struggled a moment with the question if digging in his problematic head would be worth the answer and finally, and not too pleased about it, he decided that yes, it probably was. He closed his eyes. 

He and Sammy had come to the UK to find Crowley because Cas was dying. Right. They had met some weird sons of bitches and heard about the end of the world. There was a strange poem they didn’t fully understand. _Ouch, goddamnfuckshit._ And… yesterday he had gone to a bar. That would explain the headache. 

Dean opened his eyes again and licked his lips. They felt strange and he had enough experience to know that this meant he had made out with somebody at some point not too long ago. But for the love of fuck’s sake, he just couldn’t remember with whom. There was something urgent at the back of his head, hammering against the doors of his subconsciousness, but he just couldn’t grab hold of the thought, so he just let the matter rest. He most likely wouldn’t meet that person ever again anyway. 

Perspiring and praying this day may not get any worse, he got onto his feet and somehow found his way back to 221B. In front of the door he hesitated a bit. He did in no way feel like sharing the company of a psychopathic smartass and the world’s biggest and oldest (and, in fact, most talkative) ray of sunshine with hair like he just put his fingers into a socket. 

To be brutally honest, he didn’t feel like having any human contact at all. 

But before he could quietly beat retreat and sleep for a week or something, the door was torn open by a sneering Sherlock Holmes. Dean sighed in defeat. 

“I told you he would arrive now,” Sherlock said to someone standing behind him Dean couldn’t see. 

“Good for you,” Dean snapped as he pushed past the wisenheimer inside. Sam stood in the hallway, his arms crossed, and eyed him disapprovingly. 

“What exactly are you training for there? The Mother Games? Well, congratulation, you’re almost there,” Dean snarled at him and stumped up the stairs. 

He heard Sam saying something along the lines of “The list of ‘Things more pleasant than Dean with a hangover’ is endless, you know. Landing face first in a puddle of rancid soy milk or riding a porcupine, for example,” to Sherlock and rolled his eyes.

In the living room, which he unfortunately had to cross to attain his room, he was greeted by the rest of the team. The Doctor jumped to his feet. 

“Dean! Finally, we’ve been waiting for you all day. Sherlock had a sublime idea concerning the poem. He thought that maybe – “ He stopped and took a more intensive look at Dean. “You look terrible.” 

Rose shot him a dispraising glance and turned to Dean. “Do you want to drink something? Or maybe something to eat?” 

Maybe Rose’s company wasn’t so bad after all. 

“Thanks, princess. Glass of water would be nice.” 

John put the newspaper he was reading down for a moment. “Where have you even been all night?” 

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? Must’ve been none of your fucking business,” the green-eyed man grumbled. John didn’t even blink an eye and returned to reading his paper. He had to be used to plenty, living with Sherlock. 

Just as Dean had somehow made it to his room and fallen into his way too comfortable bed, Sam called him back into the living room, in case Dean might accidentally have gotten a moment of relaxation.

He ignored it at first because hell, couldn’t they save the world tomorrow? Moreover it was not like his poem analysis skills were too great. But when Sam threatened to sell the Impala online with his I-went-to-Stanford-and-learned-hacking websites-from-a-professional-skills _right now,_ Dean didn’t see another possibility than to report for duty. 

He slumped onto the couch and examined everyone. “What?” He finally asked. 

Rose slid that glass of water Dean had already forgotten about across the table and Sherlock took a deep breath, preparing himself for one of his spectacular speeches. 

“If we look at the intentional setting of the stanzas in a more superficial way – “ 

A noise at the window interrupted him. Dean first assumed it to be some intellectually challenged bird flying against the glass again and again, most likely to compete in the Who-Can-Annoy-Dean-Winchester-Most Olympics. 

On closer inspection, however, it was a really strange looking bird. In fact, it wasn’t even a bird. It was an envelope, black as night. 

“What?” The Doctor stated what everyone was thinking in his colossal accent. Eventually, John got up and opened the window. Immediately, the letter darted inside the room (not without slapping John right in the face) and landed in Sam’s lap. With a suspicious look to his brother, Sam opened it. 

His eyes darted over the sheet of paper that had been inside the envelope. As he put it down, he sighed deeply. 

“Crowley is getting more dramatic by the second. Where does he get his inspiration from? Hogwarts?” 

“Wait, Crowley?!” Dean jumped to his feet and snatched the letter out of his brother’s hands. 

“Who’s Crowley?” Rose and the Doctor asked simultaneously, but Dean ignored them. 

_Hello, boys_  
_I sincerely hope you are not doing well._  
_Anyway, a little bird told me you heroes are looking for me. Unfortunately, your Scout skills leave a lot to be desired and as I in no way wish to meet your aged and wrinkly faces when you, if you are lucky, finally succeed with your intention at the end of your pathetic little lives, I am ready for a compromise._  
_Meet me at Bobby Singer’s garage for broken boys with daddy issues at midnight._  
_Love,_  
_Crowley_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Yes. I know. I am a horrendous human being. Please excuse my entire existence. I’m so sorry I didn’t update sooner, there’s been a lot going on lately. 
> 
> Anyway, to everybody who’s still aboard:  
> Leave me your opinion and your favourite oatmeal recipe, please. 
> 
> (In case you’re wondering why the heckaroo I’m always asking for oatmeal recipes – I live in Germany and we don’t eat oatmeal. It’s just not a thing. We do have something kind of similar but to be honest that tastes like dirt. So yeah. And resulting form the fact that I live in Germany you might have figured out that English isn’t my first language. So please don’t hesitate to point out mistakes I make with grammar/spelling. I’d be grateful!) 
> 
> Love,  
> Me


	12. Boiling Point

They all sat gathered around the living room table, silently gazing at the black envelope lying on it. On all of their faces there were different degrees of astonishment, confusion or fear. Except for Sherlock’s. The consulting detective had his hands pressed together under his chin, almost like he was about to pray, and his expression was blank and unreadable. 

“So,” he eventually said, just in the moment the silence became unbearable, and looked at Sam and Dean, “the consignor of this letter, a certain Mister Crowley, obviously has a tendency for dramatic appearances and an exceedingly rude attitude. Which, as per margin, makes him the perfect counterpart to my brother Mycroft, now that I think about it.” 

“Wait, is Mycroft an actual name? It’s a nickname, isn’t it,” Rose whispered to the Doctor and had to remind herself of the seriousness of the current state of affairs to not burst out laughing. When she realized that she, in fact, had not really talked as quietly as she had planned to, she blushed furiously and started half-heartedly apologizing to Sherlock, even though still biting her tongue to not laugh out loud. 

But Sherlock just waved it off, the corners of his mouth curling up into the suggestion of a grin. Dean completely ignored both of them and ran his fingers through his short hair over and over again like he was getting paid for it. 

“Please tell us something we don’t know already,” he said, and it didn’t even sound snappy. Just extremely resigned.

Sherlock took the envelope in his hands again and looked at it from all possible angels. 

“Well,” he then said slowly and even had the decency to at least try and not sound completely self-complacent, “I do know some more things, Dean. 

I see for example that, even though your Mister Crowley” – Dean uncomfortably shifted in his seat and was close to rectify that firstly it wasn’t _their_ Crowley and secondly it wasn’t _Mister_ Crowley but _King of Hell Son of a Bitch Devious Backstabber Couldn’t Get Any Worse_ Crowley, but the look he got from his brother was so terrifying that he rather kept his mouth shut – “claims otherwise, he indeed is eager to meet at least one of you. 

But I have to disappoint you, it’s not because he values your company beyond all measure. In fact, he needs something from you, and as fast as possible. I’m not sure what it is but he’s furious about it. That is indicative of him not being able to provide it on his own, even though he’s used to having almost everything in abundance. Just look at the way he throws with insults in every sentence. That’s not just attitude. From all that I can tell Crowley does love drama, but only as long as it is not of emotional nature and does not keep him from his business. 

However, he does take you very seriously as trade partners, even though he’s trying to hide it. The matter, whatever it is about, is extremely important to him and he cannot fulfill his intentions without you. Just look at the paper quality. Even for a man of his obviously great influence this should have been hard to get. People often subliminally use higher quality in preparation than it would be rational when they see a lot being on the line for themselves. The feeling of tradition and thoroughness manufactures the illusion of already being successful. 

So you could basically demand almost anything from him and should always pretend like you know something he doesn’t, it will make him give in into your offer more easily,” Sherlock finished and put the envelope back onto the table. 

In the next second, Dean was on his feet and leaned forward so much that he almost fell over the table onto Sherlock. For a split second Sam was actually afraid his brother might kiss Sherlock. But then Dean just smiled for the first time today and said, a little breathlessly: “Jesus, you are a genius! Crowley might as well pack up and go home now.” 

And Sherlock Holmes was, for the first time in a very long time, rendered speechless by the first and probably last compliment he had ever gotten from Dean Winchester, who seemed to be a little embarrassed by his little outburst himself by now. 

Sam hated to be the spoilsport, but it was better not to mess with Crowley. If Sherlock was wrong and Crowley did in fact only meet with them out of the goodness of his heart (which Sam more than strongly doubted, but still) they couldn’t lose that chance. Cas was dying, after all. And although he trusted Sherlock just as much as the Doctor, Rose and John, the angel was still his best friend. They had known Cas for much longer and the angel had given up everything for them. They had to be careful. 

“What if your deduction skills don’t work with demons?” he carefully asked Sherlock. The addressed sighed so deeply that Sam almost feared he might start hyperventilating. 

“Samuel.” Sherlock sounded almost disappointed. “Please don’t start with this all over again. How many times do I have to tell you that there is no such thing as angels and demons?” 

“Look, man. I don’t care if you believe it or not. You’ll hopefully never have to believe it, actually. But for my brother and me this is all we know, it’s our lives, okay? And right now that’s pretty much all that matters to save our best friend, so just leave it, alright?” Dean tiredly answered. 

“Since I am coming along to your negotiation with this allegedly _demon,_ your hopes will not be fulfilled, I’m afraid, Dean.” 

“You’re what?” 

“I am coming along.” 

“You are so not coming along.” 

“Well, of course he’s coming along,” the Doctor leaped to Sherlock’s defense, “We’re all coming along.” 

Dean firmly shook his head. “No. This is our problem and we will deal with it, we always do. It’s too dangerous for people who are not familiar with these kinds of things. Don’t even get me started on how dangerous it is for people who don’t even believe in them.”   
He significantly looked at the consulting detective. 

“Dean, we’re a team now. And even more importantly, we are your friends. Friends don’t let friends down.” The undertone in Rose’s voice would allow no objection, but her gentle eyes were sincere. 

“Blimey, we’re going to save the world together. I do believe we can handle a Crowley to acquire a taste for it, don’t you, Dean,” the Doctor beamed.

“But – “

“They are not normal people, Dean. They can help and, for the love of everything, they don’t need your protection. If they really do want to come along, I’m pretty certain no force on this earth can stop them. Not even you,” his brother interrupted him. 

But Dean wasn’t ready to give in just yet. What was Sam thinking? Crowley was dangerous as heck and, even more importantly, Dean didn’t want these people to actually learn believing in demons or angels or whatever. Not even Sherlock, that smartass. Because, once you know about something, you’ll never forget it again. Knowing about the evil in the world came at a cost and with a certain lifestyle Dean wouldn’t wish to anyone. It was hard enough to take he hadn’t been able to save Sam. 

However, before he could end this discussion once and for all, there was the sound of fluttering wings, and Cas appeared in the corner of the room, in a cloud of… steam? 

The angel bent over in a coughing fit, desperately trying to find his balance back but avoiding touching anything, as Dean noticed. He jumped over the table and hurried over to Cas to steady him. There was this urgent thought again at the back of his mind, hammering like a motherfucker to be noticed, but he pushed it aside. There were more important things right now. 

“Dean, stay awa– “ Castiel started breathlessly but was once more interrupted by spastic coughing, so the hunter didn’t hesitate any longer and grabbed Cas’s arm, noticing how the angel’s clothing was weirdly riddled with holes that were black at the edges and generally very ragged. 

“Ouch!” With a yelp, Dean pulled his hand back. “Goddamnit, Cas, you’re fucking hot!” 

On the instant, Dean felt heat rising up in his cheeks and hoped that nobody had actually noticed what he just said. But they all just stared at Cas, who was literally steaming at this point. The coughing had stopped and the angel looked up. 

The green-eyed hunter winced. Miserable was a compliment for the way Castiel looked. He was pale and seemed to be almost transparent, his eyes dull and bloodshot. 

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean whispered, “What is this?” 

The angel closed his eyes and looked concentrated, like he had forgotten how to use the human language. 

“You might compare it to a human fever,” he finally murmured slowly. 

“How do we help you?” Sam asked urgently. But before he could answer, Cas’s eyes rolled back and he slumped to the ground. Where he touched the carped, it started smoldering and sizzling, but fortunately it didn’t catch fire. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean almost grabbed for Castiel’s arm again to catch his friend before he remembered that it would probably burn his hand right off. 

“What do we do?” Rose asked quietly. 

“Sam, fill half of the bathtub with cold water. Dean, find a way to get him into the bathroom. Doctor, help Dean and see if you can help the patient breathe, you’re a doctor, after all. Sherlock, get me a bucket of ice cubes. Oh, I don’t care from where you’re going to get them from. You’re bloody Sherlock Holmes, for God’s sake, and now move it! Rose, with me,” John said calmly yet hurriedly and was out of the door before anybody could protest. 

Not that anybody would have dared to protest. Dean realized that this weren’t simple medical treatments John was suggesting. Doctor John Watson was giving orders. A side of him Dean hadn’t seen before. Known about, yes, but actually seeing it now… it was weird. Very weird. 

They all hurried to fulfil the tasks John had given them. Dean and the Doctor kneeled down next to the unconscious angel. 

“Now, how do we get him to the bathroom?” Dean asked and tried the ban the panic out of his voice. He had promised Cas he wouldn’t let him die. Admittedly, he had broken many promises over the years, but this was a promise that Dean would rather die for than breaking it. 

The Doctor hesitated a moment, then, before Dean could stop him, put Cas’s arm around his neck and pulled him up. The sizzling noise was horrific and the smell of charred clothes filled Dean’s nose. But the Doctor didn’t let go of Cas, he didn’t catch fire, he didn’t even scream in agony. 

“How…? That would kill any human being, what the hell are you doing?” Dean tried not to raise his voice at this utterly disturbing picture. 

“Well, good that I’m not human, then,” the Doctor said through clenched teeth. His forehead was glistening with sweat and his face was a grimace and it was fairly obvious that he was in pain. But that couldn’t even be compared to how a human would have reacted to that amount of heat. 

Dean’s eyes grew wide. If the Doctor wasn’t human, that meant he was a thing. And it was his job to kill things. Saving people, hunting things. _The family business._ But hell, Dean didn’t want to take the Doctor out. They were friends, for fuck’s sake. 

A soft groan from Castiel interrupted his thoughts and the Doctor started making his way to the bathroom, half carrying, half dragging the angel along. Dean could only help by putting things out of the Doctor’s way. Rarely had he felt this useless. 

Sherlock was already back, pouring the ice cubes into the tub. Sam was standing next to him, worriedly glancing at the water. As Dean, the Doctor and the still unconscious Castiel entered, they both gasped a little. 

“How…?” Sam started, but the Doctor shook his head. 

“Not now, Sam. Help me undressing him.”

Undressing Cas felt beyond weird for Dean. Kind of uncomfortable as well. Especially when he had to be careful to only touch the clothes and not the bare skin. And again, there was this urgent thought, reminding him of something important that was out of his reach.

 

_**To be continued.** _


	13. Dealing Cards

As they somehow had managed to heave the cooking angel into the bathtub without, well, _dying_ in the process (even though all of the four men walked away with burnings of lower degrees), the water started boiling almost immediately. 

Dean was afraid all the water might just vaporize without having any effect whatsoever, but fortunately it stopped boiling a short while later and a small groan escaped the still unconscious Cas. 

That reminded Dean of something. He’d heard Cas making this kind of… noise before, however in a completely different situation and under different circumstances. Still, it didn’t occur to him when and where exactly that had been. 

In the next moment, John and Rose came into the for seven people way too small bathroom, carrying a beverage crate. John understood the situation within seconds. 

“Sherlock, more ice,” he ordered and the detective disappeared without a word of protest. John poured some water into a glass and put it to Cas’s lips. “He needs to stay hydrated,” he explained. 

“Hang on,” Dean said and asked his brother: “Should we hallow it?” 

Sam furrowed his brows. “What, like make it holy water? To drink?” 

The older brother shrugged. “Yeah, why not. He’s an angel, after all.” 

“Well, can’t do much harm. Rose, would you get me a clean and empty bucket, please?” 

They poured most of the water from the bottle into the bucket and Sam got out his little crucifix.

 _“Exorcizo te, creatura aquae. In nomine dei patris omnipotentis et in virtute spiritus sancti.”_

The Doctor, Rose and John watched in fascination as Sam performed the holy water blessing. As he was done, Dean filled the glass with water from the bucket, gently lifted Castiel’s head with one hand and carefully poured it down his throat. 

“Now we’re never going to make it to Crowley’s meeting in time,” Sam said worriedly. 

“Oi, have you forgotten we have a wonderful time machine parked a few streets away? We could be there yesterday or two days ago or hundred years ago, aye?” the Doctor grinned. 

Sherlock returned with more ice-cubes which they also poured into the tub and after half an hour Castiel’s body temperature had cooled down so much that it was humanly possible to touch him again.

They got him out of the water and dressed him in one of Sam’s pajamas (“Jesus Christ, Cas, you big baby!” Dean muttered every ten seconds) that was slightly too big and made him look even more vulnerable than he already did. 

They then put Cas to bed and Dean stayed with him to make him drink every two minutes and see if he was going to wake up anytime soon while the others prepared their leaving.

After twenty minutes or so, Castiel’s eyes fluttered open. As Dean came into their focus, Castiel bolted into an upright position. 

“Easy, Cas. It’s me, buddy,” Dean chuckled. 

Castiel looked at him in a somewhat suspicious way. The hunter started to wonder if there was something unaesthetic on his face, like food debris maybe. Cas squinted at him in the way only he could and finally spoke up. 

“Dean,” said Castiel. 

“Cas,” said Dean. 

“Why am I wearing these clothes?”Castiel asked. 

“Because we had to undress you and then dress you in something else,” the green-eyed man explained flatly. 

“So you’ve made me entirely naked?” 

“What was I supposed to do, just let you cook to death? Moreover you’d have burned them off sooner or later, anyway.” Dean had the weird and irrational urge to defend himself. 

“Is that socially acceptable?” Cas asked, sounding truly concerned. 

“Jesus, Cas, you’re an angel of the Lord who’s gone rebel and I kill monsters for a living. Who cares if it’s _socially acceptable?”_

Then the hunter half-smiled, a little taken aback by his friend’s weird behavior, and pointed at the glass of holy water on the nightstand. 

“John said you need to stay hydrated. It’s good to have you back, man. I almost thought you were going to end up as a boiled egg.” 

“There never was the physical possibility of me becoming an egg,” Cas stated confusedly, as usual taking everything verbally. Dean laughed and shook his head, patting his friend’s shoulder. 

But the angel flinched away, seeming even more awkward than normally and eyeing Dean like he was the biggest mystery he had ever had to face. 

“Cas, buddy, wha – ”

And then it hit him like a brick. Scratch that, it hit him like an entire brick wall. He had kissed Castiel. Not just kissed, he had drunkenly made out with him. Holy crap, he was up shit crick without a paddle, and it was entirely his fault. 

“Cas, I-I didn’t mean to… I-I… Oh god, I’m so sorry,” he stuttered, feeling himself blush furiously. 

“I don’t understand what my father has got to do with this, but it’s okay, Dean,” Castiel breathed, already dozing off again, “After all, it was quite enjoyable.” 

***

They decided it was best to leave Cas in the TARDIS when they were going to meet Crowley, so Dean carried the sleeping angel bride-style into one of the countless bedrooms in the space ship. It was a nice room for Cas, Dean thought. 

The walls were painted in a soft blue that somehow resembled Jimmy’s eyes and there were somewhat uplifting Bible quotes written on the wall all across the room. Dean hadn’t known the Doctor was religious and frowned a little. 

The bedding was decorated with illustration of feathery wings and guinea pigs, which was a weird mix, but also kind of cute. Moreover Dean was certain that Cas would like it. 

Next to the rustic bed and the nightstand next to it, there weren’t many furnishings in the room. Except for an old and quite beautiful wardrobe in the corner of the room. On closer inspection, the carpenter had garnished it with carvings showing angels in heavenly battles and other biblical events. 

Dean even discovered a portrayal of the apocalypse. Three men facing Michael and Lucifer, two of them wearing plaid, one of them wearing a long coat. Dean raised his eyebrows. He didn’t mean to be curious – but then again, curiosity was one of his natural traits. 

He opened wardrobe. Inside, there were trench coats. Many trench coats. And plain white shirts and black suits. Things Castiel would wear. 

“What the…?” 

“The TARDIS creates personal rooms for individual needs and wishes of everybody aboard, in case they want to stay,” the Doctor’s voice suddenly came from the door and Dean span around, ”You’ve got your own room, too.” 

“I do?” 

“Course you do.” The Doctor smiled. “I’ll show you later, if you don’t mind. Now we’ve got a world to save, eh?” 

Dean followed the Doctor into the control room. “Shall we, then?” the Doctor beamed. 

“To the colonies,” Sherlock sighed. “What an immense pleasure.” 

“Apparently being you means perpetually whining and bitching about anything and anyone,” Dean, who was more than glad to finally leave the continent of rain and apathy again, said. 

“And apparently being you means perpetually stating the obvious,” Sherlock shot back. They glared at each other, then they grinned. 

“So, where to?” The Doctor asked and started fumbling around at the console. 

“We need to go to _Singer Salvage Yard,_ located in Sioux Falls, South Dakota,” Sam replied, already on the look for something to hold onto for when they set off. 

“South _Dakota?”_ John was in no way more pleased than Sherlock to go to the States, but no, his voice most certainly did not squeak in horror, he was not a small woodland animal. 

“Yes, that’s in the South of Dakota,” Dean grinned. “But firstly we have to go somewhere else. To the motel _‘Pioneer Motor Inn’_ in South Carolina, to be more specific. Gotta get something from Baby.”

“Baby? Who’s _Baby?”_ Sherlock made a disgusted face, as if the very thought of Dean having any romantic or even sexual relationships with anybody nauseated him. 

Sam sighed. “That’s his car.” 

***

“Oh.” 

The Doctor stared over Dean’s shoulder into the Impala’s trunk. 

“That’s an awful lot of guns.” 

Sam sighed. He would have preferred the Doctor not seeing this, but in the end he would have noticed anyways because they couldn’t meet Crowley without being prepared for the worst case, he agreed with Dean in that point. Even the Doctor would have to realize that. 

“Yeah, and we’re going to use them,” Dean said while packing all that they needed into a sports bag. 

“Well, not me,” the Doctor replied, obviously very upset about the whole matter. “Can’t we just talk to them?” 

Dean sharply looked up. “Look, you do-gooder, if this was some weird ass planet or London in the 31st century, I would completely observe your command. Because that’s your world, you know how things work there. But right here and right now, my brother and I are in charge. And if we say you can’t talk to them, then you can’t. I’m not losing anyone today, no exceptions. So you can either take this gun” – Dean handed a small gun to the Doctor who eyed it with disgust – “or you can keep company to Cas. I’ll handcuff and gag you if that’s necessary. Your choice.” 

“Oh, I don’t think you will, Dean,” the Doctor said calmly and yet unusually coldly. 

“Try me.” 

The oncoming storm and the righteous man stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, the angry tension between them making the air crackle. 

“Man, it’s only rock salt in the bullets. Won’t harm anyone not demon-y. See?” Sam, who tried to avoid an escalation of the situation, broke open a bullet and showed the Doctor. After a moment of hesitation, the Doctor angrily glared at Dean and took the gun, or more ripped it out of Dean’s hands. 

“Wasn’t that hard, was it,” Dean grumbled and continued packing useful things into the bag. 

Sam shared a worried look with Rose. He knew his brother wasn’t easy at times but the Doctor admittedly was pretty incautious. Feeling somewhat uneasy, they returned to the TARDIS. 

The Winchester brothers had agreed that it was better to first meet Crowley and then inform Bobby that they were back and had some, well, new information concerning several forms of unpleasantness – such as the imminent end of the world or the collapsing of dimensions. Because otherwise, they were sure, Bobby would insist on coming along to meet Crowley. 

***

As soon as they arrived at their meeting place, Crowley appeared with two other demons in bodybuilder-vessels by his side. 

“You’re fashionably late,” the king of hell said dispraisingly. 

“Yeah, and your servants are fashionably rectangular. So?” Sam snapped. 

Crowley ignored him and turned, much to everyone’s surprise, to John. 

“Ah, Johnny-boy. Good to see you again. How are things? I hope you thought about that deal I offered you?” 

The former army doctor ignored him and looked at his shoes like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. Sam’s eyes widened and he mentally made a note to himself to later ask John about this.

“What do you want from us?” Dean asked flatly.

“Oh, that doesn’t have to concern you, because I’ll just take it.” Crowley sneered and his two cupboards of escorts whipped knives out and started coming at the slowly retreating friends. 

“Crowley, you son of a – HOLY SHIT!” Dean’s eyes almost jumped out of his skull. Rose Tyler was glowing in a golden light. Literally. She looked like a golden Christmas candle, Dean thought. Her eyes were almost too bright to look at and she seemed to be resonating with a weird aura of power. 

“You are so kidding me,” Sam said and John murmured: “Well, good this day hasn’t been bloody weird enough yet!” as they slowly moved away from Rose, not sure what to make of this. Crowley for his part only raised his eyebrows and smiled mildly, looking genuinely interested but not surprised. 

“I’m the Bad Wolf,” Rose said and her voice sounded strangely reverberating, echoing over the parking lot. “I looked into the Time Vortex, and the Time Vortex looked into me. I see your timelines, the time you took, the time you had, the time you could have had, and I decide your time is over now.” 

And Crowley’s personal peasants dissolved into their very atoms, becoming one with the atmosphere around them. The vessels, anyway. The demons that had been inside stayed hovering in the air as the black smoke the Winchester brothers were used to, but couldn’t do much harm in that shape. Dean was glad he had drawn an anti-possession symbol onto the arms of his friends with permanent marker earlier. It wasn’t the best solution ever, but it would keep the demons out of their bodies – for now. 

“Oh, that’s a new one,” Rose said surprised, starting to look and sound like herself again. The Doctor shot her a worried and simultaneously angry glare. 

Okay, that had been creepy. But also very useful, and Dean wasn’t going to lose time over the fact that Rose just atomized two human bodies. 

_“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritusomnis satanica potestas,_  
_omnis incursioinfernalis adversarii…”_ he started exorcising them. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Sherlock, staring at him and the bodiless demons. Dean knew he was about to destroy the detective’s entire world picture and everything he stood for and he felt incredibly sorry. But then again – he’d told him so. 

 

As soon as they – the black smoke things – were gone, more demons appeared from behind old cars and trees. It was an entire _army._

Before anyone could react, however, the Doctor stepped forward and started talking to the two demons ahead from all the others, probably commanders of sorts. Sam realized that Crowley, as the coward that he was, had disappeared in the heat of the moment. 

“I will only give you this one warning,” the Doctor said and his voice sounded both calm and dangerous, as not to say dangerously calm, “Leave us alone. Leave this planet and return to wherever you have come from.” 

The Winchesters and the demons both looked similarly confused. What planet were they supposed to return to?

The Doctor unwaveringly continued: “Referring to article 24.7 of the Shadow Proclamation…” 

The two demons in the front row had overcome their little bewilderment and grinned at each other. In the next second, the Doctor was flung through the air by an invisible force until he crashed into an old GMC. There was a horrible noise as the Doctor’s arm he had tried to soften his fall on, broke under his weight. 

Dean sensed a golden light from his right and watched the grinning atomize out of the two demons’ faces, leaving nothing but black smoke behind. Rose was furious. But she was also swaying a little on her feet, like this sort of magic shit or whatever it was took a lot out of her. After a moment of shock, the other demons stormed forward, attacking the insanely inferior group of six. 

“Use the guns and the water we gave you,” Dean roared over the din, “It won’t kill them, but it will slow them down. Only demon knives work for killing. Everyone – ”

He didn’t get any further because the first demon attacked him. He stabbed him without thinking twice, and then he stabbed a second and then a third. Those who didn’t have a demon knife kept the attackers with guns and salt and holy water and sometimes with their bare hands at bay, until either Sam or Dean could finish them off. 

Dean suddenly noticed John struggling with one demon. Both his gun and his flask of holy water were lying on the ground, out of his reach. 

“Eh, Johnny-Boy,” Dean shouted and threw his knife. Skillfully, John caught it out of the air and steeped it into his assaulter’s chest. They put up a good fight, but suddenly – and Dean had no idea how that happened – both of their demon knives were in the hands of the last two sneering demons. 

You can’t be fucking serious, the hunter thought. They had killed at least two dozen of them, and now they’d be overpowered by _two?_

Suddenly, an awful noise caught his and everybody else’s attention. Sherlock stood on a car roof and hammered away at it with a metal rod. 

“Gentlemen, if I could get the privilege of your attentiveness for a moment?” he said and then, much to everybody’s surprise, started performing a perfect exorcism. 

“How on earth did you do that?” Dean demanded to know as soon as the demon’s asses had been sent back to hell and Sherlock jumped from the car. 

The consulting detective shrugged. “You said it earlier and I remembered it. It’s not that hard. Provided that you have a brain, of course.” 

“I only said it once and it was frigging _Latin._ Nobody could have remembered that so perfectly. You are joking.” 

“No, I am Sherlock Holmes.” 

As the battle was won and the six of them stood in a pile of dead bodies, breathing heavily and making sure everyone was alright, slow clapping echoed over the place and Crowley reemerged from behind an old truck. 

“So the rumors are true,” Crowley said with satisfaction, seeming not in the least concerned over the fact that they just slaughtered his little battalion without taking any major injuries. 

“Rumors?” Sam asked, still trying to catch his breath and holding tightly onto the demon knife in his hand.

“You and your little friends here apparently are the mightiest people in the entire universe, or so I’ve heard,” Crowley said, sounding utterly unimpressed, “Although you more look like resistant vermin to me, really. Hard to kill and exceptionally unpleasant. Nonetheless, I just tested you and you didn’t disappoint me. If it hadn’t been true… well, it would have also solved a lot of my problems to send you to the grave. Win-win-situation, innet?” 

“What?” It wasn’t hard to tell that Sam thought Crowley had gone mad. 

“Oh, grow a brain, moose,” the demon scoffed, but nonetheless explained: “If you want to trust these rumors – which I do since they have manifested themselves as trustable in the past – the seven of you – your little comatose pet angel included – make the most powerful alliance of all the bloody time. You could set the entire universe aflame and watch it burn and turn to dust under your hands. Or you could save it, for that matter, even though I consider that very boring and expectable. 

You see, it’s your fate to fight together in the oncoming war. Always has been. Didn’t it feel like every single event in time, every single turn and every decision has led you here, Time Lord?” Crowley asked and spoke to the Doctor, then turned to Sam and Dean, “Winchesters, doesn’t it seem obvious that all that loss and pain and all the other so utterly human things have prepared you for what is coming?  
And Sherlock Holmes, Your Cleverness, you must long know that the universe is way too lazy to just let coincident happen coincidentally.” 

Sam frowned at how well Crowley seemed to know the Doctor and Sherlock.

“Apart from the fact that this is complete nonsense, why aren’t you running from us and hiding under the tiniest pebble you can find, if we are oh so very dangerous? And believe me, you should be running as fast as you can, because I could cut that grin out of your face all by myself right now,” Dean snarled. 

“You mean next to the fact that you’re not ready yet and have absolutely no idea what is going on, which altogether makes you about as dangerous as fruit flies? You see, Dean-o, I know that Castiel has some health-problems, to express it nicely. I know that you’ve come to seek my help. You need me and I can hardly help you from the grave,” Crowley replied serenely. 

Dean made a noise that almost resembled a growl from a wild animal. 

“So, I’ll make you an offer,” Crowley continued, “You and that little team of yours will fight alongside me and my allies in the oncoming war and I’ll tell you the secret of how to cure your pet angel in exchange. How does that sound?” 

“What war?” Rose asked and took the Doctor’s hand. 

Crowley smirked and for a moment John thought to see his eyes turning a dark shade of red. He blinked and they were back to normal in the next second. Must have been an illusion. 

“The greatest war of all of time and space,” the king of hell explained dramatically. 

“And against whom would we be fighting, exactly?” John’s voice was firm and his expression determined. 

“Where’s the fun if I tell you?” Crowley made a face at him. 

“If you had the decency to decide now, I have a hell to run,” he said to the Winchesters, “And don’t disappoint me, please. _‘Know when you are beaten’,_ where have I heard that just recently?” Crowley said thoughtfully. Sherlock’s jaw worked. 

“You’re scared,” Sherlock suddenly detected, “Just look at yourself. You’re frightened to death.” 

For a moment, the demon lost his containment and anger disfigured his features. 

“Shut your filthy mouth!” he hissed, raised his hand and clenched his fist, staring wrathfully at Sherlock. Almost instantly, the consulting detective started coughing up blood, his eyes wide with pain and fear. His knees gave in. 

“Sherlock!” John hurried over to his best friend, but he was helpless against what Crowley had done to him. 

“Crowley,” Dean finally spoke up again and his voice had a dangerous undertone. “Stop that. I said stop it.” 

The demon winked his hand in boredom and left Sherlock breathing heavily but next to this seemingly all right. 

“And an alliance with the king of hell?” Dean continued, “We’re desperate, but not insane, Crowley. You should know the difference, shouldn’t you? We’ll find a way to cure Cas, with or without you.” 

“Of course, just keep telling yourself that, squirrel. But don’t expect me to come running when you realize you need me.” Crowley shook his head and laughed. It was such an extraordinarily nasty noise that Rose wished she could put her hands over her ears. 

“Now, kids, it’s been lovely talking to you, but I’ve got to rush. For those of us who don’t own a time machine, schedule and punctuality still have value,” Crowley said with a look at his wrist, “I’m going to be late for the funeral.” 

“What funeral?” the Doctor asked suspiciously, holding his broken arm tightly to his chest. 

Crowley turned around again to face the Doctor, grinning with too many teeth. 

“Yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you did, please let me know and leave me your opinion and/or criticism because that would be nice and brighten up my day. No, I literally don't have any other earthshaking reasons. Just please.  
> Love, Me


End file.
